


Disturbing the Void

by ADashOfMiles



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-04-14 18:46:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 55,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4575660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADashOfMiles/pseuds/ADashOfMiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mercy Jacobs always knew she was a little… different. She just never knew how different she was until she discovered her strange abilities. Only when she met Stiles Stilinski in Eichen House, under rather odd circumstances did she understand that the world was much stranger than she had even anticipated. Soon thereafter, Mercy lost Stiles to the Nogitsune. After forming such an intense bond, however, Mercy wasn’t about to let him go. It wasn’t in her. She decided it was time to Disturb the Void.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Everything has changed

**Author's Note:**

> The writing team known as Dash (Hey, that’s us!), brings you this story known as Disturbing the Void. We’ve really enjoyed working on it so far and we have a long journey ahead of us still. We hope you enjoy it and Mercy, as much as we have. This story begins in season 3B. Feel free to leave questions in our ask and we’ll be sure to get back to you. Enjoy! (This is just an intro chapter, so don’t fret, Stiles and the pack will join us soon enough.)
> 
> Warnings: Explicit language and possible trigger(s)?
> 
> Disclaimer: We do not own Teen Wolf or any of the recognized characters. We only own Mercy Jacobs and the various plot devices we’ve conceived. Anything recognizable, we have no claim to.

At the age of 8, being perceptive like most children are, Mercy figured out her family wasn’t her real family. They were too different; her skin was naturally sun kissed, her hair darker and thicker. Meanwhile, her mother was so pale, you could see the veins on the backs of her hands. Both her parents had light blonde hair and blue eyes. That was the only thing they had in common it seemed, the blue eyes. Still, hers were much lighter than theirs. Mercy never outright asked them if she was adopted, nor did they ever come right out and admit that was the case. However, it remained an unspoken truth between them, whether her parents acknowledged that or not. She loved them regardless, and though she wondered about her real parents, she never asked about them. She always figured there was a reason they had given her away and she was as okay with that as she could be. It wasn’t until she turned 13 that she really began to think about them. What were they like? Why wasn’t she with them? Did she look more like her mom or her dad? Were they still alive? Where did they live? Did she have siblings? Uncles? Aunts? Sometimes, she would look at couples she passed by, while walking down the street and ask herself, _“Is that them? Would they recognize me?”_ Then, she would push those thoughts to the back of her mind, knowing that entertaining that little voice in her head was not going to lead her down a path where she had a healthy relationship with her adoptive parents. She loved her adoptive parents and they were all she had ever known, so part of her felt guilty when she wondered about her birth parents, like she were ungrateful to them. Mercy knew entertaining fanciful ideas about her birth parents could be more hurtful than helpful in the long run. 

When Mercy had turned 15, that’s when she knew for sure, there was no way she was even remotely related to the Jacobs family. She was at her best friend’s house at the time. She was there to celebrate her best friend’s birthday when everything changed. Mercy was walking up the stairs with Angela to her bedroom, holding two cups of raspberry tea that she had just made for the two of them, to take pictures before the rest of the guests arrived. They walked over to the mirror where Mercy, holding her professional camera she had gotten for Christmas the year before, snapped a photo of the two of them. Photography was her hobby, her greatest artistic talent. Mercy never left the house without her camera, knowing that she was always bound to run into unforgettable photo opportunities wherever she went. Afterwards, when she showed the photo to Angela, something happened. All of a sudden, the only thing Mercy felt was disgust. The weird thing was that it wasn’t entirely her emotion she was feeling. Looking at Angela, she noticed her friend’s face contorted in revulsion. 

“Oh my God, I look so bad in this picture! Eww! I-,“ Angela stopped mid-sentence and started retching all over the floor. Non-stop retching. Over and over, food and bile rose out of her throat and spilled on her laminated wood floors. It was endless. Mercy tried to make it stop, but her head was hurting so much, all she could do was hold Angela’s hair back. 

“Wh--at’s go--ing on? Why- am I pu--king? Make it stop!” Angela stuttered, voice strangled and terrified. Mercy tried to console her, but in trying to move over to avoid Angela’s projectile vomit, she knocked over Angela’s half-drunk glass of raspberry tea, causing it to spill onto the floor. Angela’s eyes followed the glass, watching as it shattered. “Did y--ou poison m--e, you bi--itch?!” Angela assumed in her rage and confusion over the situation. By this time, Angela’s parents had heard all of the commotion and frantically tried to stop their daughter from heaving her very stomach. Angela tried her best to convince her parents that Mercy had poisoned her, through intense episodes of spewing all of the contents of her stomach, but they didn’t buy it. Mercy had stayed silent with a horrified expression on her face, while they called 911. They sent her home, cancelled the party, and tried to get Angela to the hospital as quickly as possible, where she, eventually, stopped expelling the remains of her stomach. When Mercy got home, she went straight to her room, terrified of what she had done. She had no idea how she knew what had happened was because of her, but she could feel it. This was no random accident, which was proven when it happened again a few nights later.

Like most married couples, the Jacobs would fight every once in a while. It was normal, healthy even. They usually chose not to do it around Mercy, nor did their fights last very long, but over dinner the anger between them was palpable. As Mercy raised her fork to her mouth, a heap of soft, steaming mashed potatoes resting on the prongs, it happened. Something snapped deep within her and she felt the anger, the raw emotion from the dinner table in a wave of red hot rage. The fight between her parents couldn’t have been anything major, the Jacobs were a good couple, but to Mercy, it was murderous fury, seeming to have been amplified within her own mind. Her face twisted in pain as, yet again, the intense migraine formed in the back of her crown. In a flash, her father stood from the table eyes wide, pupils shrunken to the size of pinpricks, practically foaming at the mouth. He started screaming and yelling, much louder than Mercy had ever heard him speak before. Her mother retorted angrily in much the same fashion. They started throwing food, drinks, plates, and cups at each other. Somehow, amidst all the chaos, the fight had managed to move itself into the living room, the next room over in the house. It wasn’t until three minutes later, when they were screaming in each other’s faces that her mother threw the first punch. It was a slap really, but a hard one. Despite having moved to another room, still Mercy heard when her mother’s hand made contact, as it rang, loud and clear. Mercy was so shocked; a very loud, very audible gasp blew past her lips, making her run to the entrance of the other room. Then, as suddenly as the fight had broken out, it stopped. The Jacobs stared at each other for what seemed like hours until they snapped out of their respective trances and proceeded to freak out. They apologized over and over not only to each other, but to their daughter. They cried and panicked and began to clean up the devastation they had made in their wake, sending a very scared Mercy back to her room. Once there, Mercy realized exactly what had happened and put two and two together. 

Closing the door behind her as she entered her room, she slowly slid down the cool, white painted wood, turning the lock on the knob as she did so.

_“This is my fault. It’s all me. Angela felt disgusted by the photo I took, then I felt sick, then she gets sick. My parents are mildly angry at each other, then I get livid, then they practically murder each other. I’m… I’m…. I don’t know what I am! What the hell is going on with me?”_

After countless hours of scouring the internet, namely Wikipedia and supernaturally-oriented blogs Mercy found the answer she had been searching for.

_Empath: A humanoid species that can read, manipulate, and sometimes change another creature’s emotions._  
“There are many subspecies of Empaths, all of which first experience their powers either during or after puberty. All subspecies start with the same three abilities: Sense mood, sense the nature of the being, and project emotion. As each subspecies grow and develop over time, their abilities may increase in power, fade, or develop new ones. The rarest and most powerful species of Empath is the Empath Maximus. Although each subspecies have their own select abilities from a range of skills, only the Empath Maximus exhibits all gifts and have potential for more unknown abilities. Once fully developed, an Empath Maximus can not only sense and project mood, but can also project, transmit and read emotions, sense and identify danger, project and produce sensations, heighten or numb emotions, cause and share emotions, make a person hallucinate, create an emotional connection, one that can last a life span and can only be severed by death (see reference: soulmate). The ultimate power of an Empath Maximus is the ability to manipulate a person’s “life force” to exponentially increase cell division in a controlled manner so as to, essentially, become a healer.  
An emotional connection can be formed only once in an Empath Maximus’ life, and requires an immense amount of focus and control. All Empaths have a limit as to how much power they can exert at any given time, and that limit and power can increase with use, practice, and age. An Empath that has practiced and used their powers from the moment they appeared is stronger than an Empath that has never used their gift(s). Empaths can lose their talents, if they ignore them for long enough, typically many years. The powers fade and will, eventually, disappear, though the Empath still remains an Empath. Their descendants will still possess the abilities native to their specific subspecies. Inclusively, the Empath is a “Gifted Human” meaning the Empath gene is a dominant one. If an Empath and a human were to conceive, the child would be an Empath…” 

Mercy read the beginning of an article, knowing deep within, she was reading about herself. Though, she didn’t explicitly use all the powers associated with an Empath just learning to use their abilities, she knew that sooner or later those abilities would surface. And boy, did they surface.

The following week at school Mercy went up to Angela and tried her best to explain that she didn’t, and would never, try to poison her. She then went on to explain what she had read in that article. At first Angela thought she was crazy, but soon realized how right Mercy was. Angela threatened to tell everybody what Mercy was, petrifying and manipulating her by convincing Mercy that scientists would experiment on her and try to use her, and however cliché that may have sounded, it still struck fear in Mercy’s heart. Mercy begged for Angela’s silence, which Angela did grant, but under one condition of course; Mercy had to do everything and anything that Angela asked, from then on. So for the next two years, the two were inseparable though not by Mercy’s choice. Fear kept Mercy in check and Angela held a tight leash on her new pet. Angela used Mercy’s abilities to manipulate emotions to her advantage. Failed a test? Mercy would make the teachers feel sorry enough to change the grade, but never made them think twice about it even after Mercy was done exerting her power. Wanted to scare a freshman? Angela would have Mercy make them see spiders crawling on their arms, or so terrified they would soil their pants, or cry so hard they had to be sent home. Angela was a manipulative, fake, attention-craving bitch, and Mercy knew it. Especially, when after exerting her power, Mercy was left in a weakened state and her so-called “friend” could have cared less. Nevertheless, each night after using her abilities, Mercy practically felt herself getting stronger; the tasks were getting easier. Angela, however, was getting far more creative. 

Eventually, during the beginning of junior year, Mercy snapped. She was just so tired of Angela’s manipulation and, since she was getting stronger, she could clearly tell how Angela really felt towards Mercy, not that it was exactly a secret anyways. She thought Mercy was a freak. So, Mercy proved what a freak she actually was and retaliated.  
Second period Chemistry had just started and Angela had received a failing grade on her test, again. 

“Hey, Mercy. Why don’t you ‘convince’ Mr. Taylor to, ya know?” Angela gestures vaguely. “Change my grade. I just know that I got a B. I got most of these right!” she whispered while leaning over her desk in Mercy’s direction, a smirk on her face.

“How about I don’t, you smug bitch,” she whispered back. _If only you had studied like me, you would be passing these tests on your own!_

“I don’t think so. I own you, remember? I mean I can always call 911, or the local research center. I’m _sure_ they’d love to get their hands on you. It’s all the same to me. Either way,” she shrugged.

“Yeah, right. You and I know full well, that without me you would have failed sophomore year,” Mercy retorted, her voice taking on some heat. She was _done._

“Doubt it. Just, convince Mr. Taylor, would you? I don’t have time for this,” Angela said dismissively, bored with the conversation already. “I have to leave in a few minutes, anyways, and meet Jordan behind the bleachers,” she wiggled her eyebrows, eyes sparkling with just the thought of meeting her newest boy toy.

“You know what, Angela? Fuck you. I’m done! Why don’t you stick that shitty attitude of yours right where the sun doesn’t shine!” she said rather loudly. The class turned and stared, shocked at the normally quiet girl’s outbreak. Mercy was too far gone to even notice when some of the kids started pulling out their phones, expecting a fight. Her rage was building. 

“What did you say to me, you whore?” Angela asked, rising from her desk as Mercy did the same beside her. 

“You heard me,” she said, voice uncannily calm. Mercy was white-knuckling the wooden desk, in an attempt to remain as grounded as she could in her anger. Her eyes were dour and brooding, turning into stormy seas; she couldn’t contain her rage. With a hellish scream, she whipped around, now facing the blonde air-head that was the source of her vexation, hand curled into a fist and punched Angela square on the jaw. Mr. Taylor immediately stood from his desk and made his way over to where the two girls were. Angela was on the floor clutching her nose, which was bleeding through her right nostril, looking up at Mercy, shocked the girl had chosen to act against her. Mercy just stared, hands at her sides, body stiff with rage, waves of anger radiating from her. She concentrated all her powers on Angela, channeling her rage and fury at the girl on the floor. Mercy’s mouth was open and she knew she was probably screaming, but she couldn’t hear anything over the rush of blood and pure emotion coursing through her body. Her normally light blue eyes were wild, pupils shrinking and growing at impossibly fast rates, irises glowing a vivid blue. Angela was writhing on the floor, clutching her head screaming in pain. A migraine was growing in the back of Mercy’s head, but she ignored it, going through the pain, and pushing past her limits. Her nose started bleeding, but still she went on. It wasn’t until the security guard came barging through the door and tackled her to the floor that she finally broke concentration. She was pinned down to the floor. Most of the students in the class were freaking out at the scene in front of them, not entirely sure of what had happened, despite having seen it happen, first hand. 

Hours later, the police had arrested Mercy, even with the inconceivable eye witness accounts they had gotten of the whole spectacle, which made no logical sense. Later, she would come to find out that Angela was sent to the hospital and remained in a coma for two months. She had had an aneurysm and when she had woken, she was sent to the psychiatric ward of the hospital for random bouts of screaming, or so Mercy had been told. Mercy’s parents had no idea what to do with her, after the fact. After many long conversations with the chief of police and Mercy’s doctor, it was recommended that they send Mercy to a mental health facility that would be able to keep tabs on her around the clock, and maybe even decipher her erratic behavior. They decided to follow the advice and drove two hours to Beacon Hills from their little suburban town, yet told Mercy nothing of their plans to leave her in Eichen House’s care.

As the Jacobs’ car pulled up outside of Eichen’s gates, Mercy was startled awake. She had chosen to sleep during the long ride in order to block out the varying emotions of her parents, that were seeping from the front of the vehicle. It was truly a testament to her exhaustion that she was able to rest at all, considering how strong their emotions were. Mercy’s powers had kept fluctuating ever since everything that happened with Angela. Sometimes her powers left her numb, other times leaving her curled in on herself with pain. She didn’t know the extent of her abilities, but she knew that any sense of control she might have had was gone thanks to her outburst. She had used too much at once and the sheer amount had left her in varying states of vulnerability. It was terrifying. Mercy knew what she was, but now it was very evident that she didn’t know the full scale of her power. 

Mercy shook her head to rid herself of the self-depreciating thoughts she knew she was spiraling towards. Looking out the car window, she saw the large, black, metal gates looming before her.

“Eichen House?” commented Mercy, reading the sign above. “What exactly is Eichen House, again?” she asked. Yet, just as she finished asking her question, she was overwhelmed by the amount of anxiety radiating off the only set of parents she had ever known. It nearly knocked the wind out of her lungs with the force it had hit her with. “What? What is this place? Why are we here?!” she cried out, voice shaky with fear.

“Darling, calm down,” her father told her as he exited the white SUV. Mercy and her mother did the same, Mercy, choosing to slam her door shut with enough force to slightly shake the car. When her mother went to lay a hand on her arm in a comforting gesture, Mercy just shook her off before crossing her own arms across her chest, body language indicating that she was shutting down, closing herself off.

“Calm down? No, dad. You don’t get to tell me to calm down! Where are we?!” she asked again, her voice reaching unknown heights, nearly a screech in her hysteria. Mercy was terrified, the varying waves of emotion from her parents colliding with her own. She couldn’t take it anymore.

Her mom was beginning to cry when she saw the downward spiral her daughter was falling into.

“This place can help you, Mercy. We just want to help you,” she explained, a pleading look in her eyes. “We just don’t know how, sugar. Maybe… Maybe this is the best place for you,” Mrs. Jacobs finished, a tear rolling down her cheek, falling off her chin.

“How can this be the best place for me?! Wait…” Mercy paused as realization dawned on her. “Is this a crazy house?! You think I’m insane? That’s great. Fantastic, even,” she said flatly, sarcasm rolling off her tongue. “So, tell me, which side of the family did I get this from, huh?” Mercy’s anxiety gave way to despair, which gave way to disbelief, which ended in anger and soon enough Mercy wasn’t entirely sure what was being said at this point. All she knew was that she desperately wanted to hurt them. Mercy wanted to make them suffer, just as she was suffering on the inside. “Oh wait, I almost forgot. I can’t inherit _anything_ from you two, can I? You know, considering, you’re not really my parents!” Mercy’s voice rose to a scream by the time she finished her tirade, pain emerging from the depths of her.  
Her mother gasped and clutched at her husband’s hands, neither bothering to hide the tears streaming down their faces. Mercy merely swiped angrily at her own as she continued.

“What?! As if I didn’t know?! I’m not an idiot! I’ve known since I was eight. Why should we continue to put on this charade? Especially, when at the first sign of trouble, you decide to ship me off to the loony bin!”

“Mercy! Please, honey,” her mother tried to plead with her, but Mercy wasn’t having it. She was done. She felt betrayed and hurt. Her power was surging to new heights, she was unable to contain her raw emotions, the raw energy. It was too late to stop her from condemning the two people she thought she could trust no matter what. She lashed out at them, projecting onto them things they feared, making them see things that weren’t there. She tapped into the deepest darkest regions of their minds, bringing forth nightmares each had forgotten they had ever experienced.

The Jacobs screeched as they saw their nightmares come to life, although they were wide awake. Mercy knew it must have felt like hours for them, when in reality, only a minute or two had passed before the terrifying hallucinations ended. Shaking, both adults looked over to see their daughter had collapsed, nothing but a heap of clothing on the sidewalk, knees too weak to support her weight after using so much power and energy in such a short time. After they managed to calm their nerves, they carried a very weak and unstable Mercy through the gates and into Eichen’s facility. Mercy was so out of it, she couldn’t even acknowledge the fact that yet another set of parents were giving up on her.


	2. When The Cage Gets Crowded...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Welcome back, guys! Glad you’re still with us, even with the rather slow start. So, here's chapter 2 of "Disturbing The Void". This is what you can look forward to in this chapter: Here we have Mercy meet Stiles for the first time, Mercy making friends, Mercy making enemies, and overall… disturbing images. Basically, this is our first look into how Mercy is navigating through our favorite source of disturbing images, Eichen House. Each chapter will have a brief rewind of the last scene from the previous chapter, a sort of recap, just to keep you refreshed. Anyways, enough of us, we’re sure you want to get to the _actual_ story. We hope you love it. Thanks, again!
> 
> Warnings: Possible trigger(s): suicide, vomiting
> 
> Disclaimer: We do not own Teen Wolf or any of the recognized characters. We only own Mercy Jacobs and the various plot devices we’ve conceived. Anything recognizable, we have no claim to.

“Mercy! Please, honey,” her mother tried to plead with her, but Mercy wasn’t having it. She was done. She felt betrayed and hurt. Her power was surging to new heights, she was unable to contain her raw emotions, the raw energy. It was too late to stop her from condemning the two people she thought she could trust no matter what. She lashed out at them, projecting onto them things they feared, making them see things that weren’t there. She tapped into the deepest darkest regions of their minds, bringing forth nightmares each had forgotten they had ever experienced.

The Jacobs screeched as they saw their nightmares come to life, although they were wide awake. Mercy knew it must have felt like hours for them, when in reality, only a minute or two had passed before the terrifying hallucinations ended. Shaking, both adults looked over to see their daughter had collapsed, nothing but a heap of clothing on the sidewalk, knees too weak to support her weight after using so much power and energy in such a short time. After they managed to calm their nerves, they carried a very weak and unstable Mercy through the gates and into Eichen’s facility. Mercy was so out of it, she couldn’t even acknowledge the fact that yet another set of parents were giving up on her.  

* * *

 

Mercy had been in Eichen for days now and was already well acquainted with solitary confinement. She was used to it and the prison that was Eichen House. In the short time she had been here, she had taken more medication and tranquilizers than she had ever been exposed to in her life. She had only met a handful of the other patients, most too unstable to form any resemblance of a coherent sentence, while others spent their time screaming intermittently and banging their heads on the closest solid surface. There were a few that, if she tried to “sense” them, it seemed ambiguous. Almost as if they weren’t exactly human. There was one however, a girl with long, brown hair and a nasty attitude that stuck out among the rest. Malia, she later learned due to their being bunk mates, was her name. Boy, was that girl honest to a fault, like a child who didn’t know anything about social graces. It was almost like she had never interacted with another person before!

Mercy had first met her a few days after arriving at the psychiatric facility, before they became roomies, due to an unfortunate shortage of beds and their both spending a little less time in solitary confinement. She had been waiting in line for lunch when she accidentally stepped on Malia’s foot. Immediately, an apology blew past her lips, that being like second nature to Mercy. Malia had looked at her with a confused, yet angered expression. After a few seconds of that she had actually _growled_. Mercy couldn’t believe it, at first. She thought maybe her meds were actually making her crazy, but the snarl remained etched onto the girl’s face. Taken aback, Mercy only raised her eyebrows and stood there, absolutely dumbfounded. Then, just as quickly as Malia had reacted, she stormed off with her tray of food to sit in the corner of the room, legs outstretched before her on the dirty, white tile.

“Hey there, new girl,” Mercy had glanced to her right and seen a sheepish-looking boy about her age wearing a brown T-shirt. Mercy only tilted her head in acknowledgement. He smiled a toothy grin and continued talking, ignoring the rather dry greeting Mercy had offered. “My name is Oliver. I saw you come in the other day. Your parents... they were your parents, right? I saw them carry you in,” he said as he grabbed a tray of food off the lunch counter. The grey haired lady standing sentry behind it continued dolloping porridge-like food on to the awaiting lunch trays with an almost robotic movement. As though she were just going through the motions, no second thought given to her actions. “Anyways, I haven’t seen you since then. Where’d you go?” he asked.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but, I’ve got my own personal room in solitary, by this point. They’re decorating it up real nice for me, putting my name on the door and everything,” Mercy had thrown over her shoulder, sarcasm dripping from her words. Oliver snorted, which nearly brought a smile to Mercy’s lips, which felt foreign to her face after having been in Eichen for only a week.

“You’re funny. That’s really rare around here. We should stick together,” Oliver told her, giving her the dopiest look she had ever seen. This kid was like a puppy; it was kind of adorable. Mercy was going to stay wary, though. She just wasn’t sure she could trust someone so soon after everything that had happened… a week? Maybe two weeks ago? Mercy could hardly tell the difference by now. Time seemed to be melding together after being trapped for so long in solitary. She gave him the most noncommittal shrug imaginable.

“Great! Maybe we’ll be able to survive Crazy Town, together!” Oliver exclaimed, ecstatic about the turn of events. Mercy was sure that if the kid’s hands had been free, he would have clapped like a seal. Surely, he couldn’t be all bad.

[Months later…]

One night that started off like any other, found the kiddies in the closest thing they had to a playroom in Eichen. It was more a communal area with an array of ugly, uncomfortable furniture that would never match, even if you squinted with a tilt of the head. Plus, to make it worse, it smelled… odd. If it weren’t for the fact that Oliver and her weren’t allowed in each other’s rooms, they would’ve never frequented the damn place. Oh, the things people do for their friends.

“Hey, Ollie,” Mercy called, not looking up from the deck of cards in front of her. She was kneeling in front of the only, and sadly, poor excuse of a table. “Wanna build a house of cards? I’m bored.”

“You’re always bored, Mercy,” he replied, nonchalantly.

“Well, this time I’m BEYOND bored,” she clarified, throwing a glance in his direction.

Oliver was lying on his back, his feet propped up on the front of couch in the patient sitting room, head hanging off the cushions, making the blood rush to his cheeks. “You know, that dick, Brunski, would just blow it down, right? What’s the point?”

“Well, what else is there to do in this hell hole?” Mercy sighed, exasperated.

“We could always bug people...” Oliver looked over, eyebrows wiggling suggestively.

“Yeah, and get tackled, tasered, and tranquilized? The big “Three Ts?” No, thanks. Already happened twice this week, and that’s my weekly quota.”

“Would you two just quit it? You’re driving me insane,” Malia, who was sitting  on the nearest armchair said, rolling her eyes.

“Seems like you’re in the right place, then,” Oliver piped up.

“You could leave, you know,” Mercy stated flatly. After months of being prisoners in the same desperately, small cage, the two girls had yet to get along.

Mercy stayed silent, waiting for a retort or another growl or whatever Malia deemed an appropriate response. She wasn’t too keen on picking yet another fight with the brunette. Their relationship was a weird one. Some days, they would fight like cats and dogs, earning them either a day in solitary, or a night tightly bound to their beds. Other days, the two girls could be seen staring at each other in their shared room, both sitting across from each other on their respective beds, scowls etched across their faces, having a silent argument. They were often seen as one and the same, smart mouthing the monsters employed there to keep them rattling in chains, which, though it would seem like a bonding experience, actually ended up with either or both of them thrown in solitary, cuddling with something other than blankets for the night. There was the occasional day or two when both of them decided to keep their heads down and not draw attention to themselves, but it was rare and far between because of their strong characters. It was probably one of the reasons why they didn’t get along so well. Well, that and the whole weird vibe Mercy kept picking up on when Malia was around.

Oliver had told her previously that Malia had once claimed to be a dog, but Mercy wasn’t sure about that. It just didn’t sound right. Malia did have some… animalistic qualities, but she had never heard Malia mention anything like that in group therapy. Though, she must admit, she wouldn’t be all that surprised if Malia ever did bring the topic up. They _were_ in the loony bin, after all.

Malia stood from her seat and made her way to the stairs, presumably going to their shared dorm, but made sure to stop long enough to throw a glare in Mercy’s direction, to which Mercy just shrugged in response. Mercy went back to looking at the playing cards before her and, after a while, she started practicing her shuffling skills. She never could get the bridge quite right.

“Alright, I’m gonna go to my room, see if I can find a good hiding place for... I don’t know. I guess I can start a rock collection and hide them there,” Ollie explained in that quirky way of his. Mercy just snorted in response, smiling a little and giving a slight shake of the head. Oliver lifted his body from where he was lying, swinging his legs to the side and standing up to walk to the second floor of the west wing, where the boys’ dormitories were located. “See ya!” he tossed over his shoulder, waving his hand above his head as he departed from the room.

“See ya,” whispered Mercy, not quite paying her full attention to the sweet, yet silly boy. After shuffling and reshuffling her deck of cards, she gave up and just put them back in their tattered box, slipping it into the pocket of her black sweats. She tried combing her fingers through her tangled hair, but stopped as her fingers rather painfully tugged at the knotted strands, getting caught. “Time for a shower,” she mumbled to herself, walking towards the east wing. She passed the visitors’ lounge, taking a quick glance through the clear, glass window separating the administrators’ office from the actual lounge. There, she saw a tall, rather good-looking teenage boy around her age, saying his final goodbyes to a man who appeared to be his father.

 _“He seems sane enough to me, despite the bags under his eyes. Looks like he could use some sleep. Oh, boy, did you come to the wrong place, buddy.”_ Mercy thought. The boy kept talking to his now evidently panicky father, and rested his hand on the older man's shoulder.  

She kept walking, climbing the steps of the square staircase, two at a time. As she climbed toward the third floor she hears a man say something… A riddle, maybe? She glanced up at the poor man before her, recognizing him as one of the crazier men from the breakfast line. He always wrote strange, meaningless doodles with his food on the table where he sat, alone. Then, her eyes widened as the man, who had been tying his blankets together, quickly wrapped the thick collection of fabric around his neck as a makeshift noose and jumped from the landing. She screamed loudly, shocked that the old man had summoned the energy and willpower to end his own life. Her stomach tightened in revulsion over the sight that lay before her. Mercy’s eyes stayed on the spasming, swinging body, his eyes bulging wide and blood red. The man struggled to breathe, his hand clawing at his throat to relieve the pressure. Soon enough, his movements stopped, but his body didn’t stop swinging. The snapping sound of the blankets echoed throughout the building, as the taut fabric slapped against the walls of the staircase, echoing in her ears. Her hand had flown to her mouth so quickly, as she witnessed the act, Mercy had accidentally speared her bottom lip with her teeth, causing a slight rip to form. She tasted iron and her throat felt raw from her outburst. Though it seemed like hours, she had only been screaming for a few, but very long, seconds.

As her eyes raked the surrounding area, hoping to find an orderly that could take the hideous sight away from her, she noticed the boy from before standing just a few feet away, moving closer to the railing. _“Not five minutes in, and you’ve already witnessed one of life’s many horrors,”_ she thought. She noticed him clutching the railing, where he stood glancing between her and the body, curiosity, confusion and pure shock in his wide eyes. As Mercy came back to her senses, she slowly uncovered her mouth, noting the smear of blood on her palm. Quickly, she swiped her tongue over her lips, hopefully gathering any blood still there. With lips redder than normal, she shoved her way past the increasing swarm of curious patients wanting to get a look at the body. Emotions bombarded her head. _“Too many people, too many emotions. I can’t take it!”_ While trying to get away as fast as she could, Mercy tripped. She clutched her head as a quiet, yet pain-filled moan escaped her lips. Yet not long after, warm hands were holding her, as if they appeared out of nowhere.

“Hey! Are you okay?” the boy from before questioned. He was kneeling next to her looking for any signs of injury. If Mercy weren't preoccupied with getting away from the crowd of patients, she would've blushed in embarrassment at the handsome boy seeing her clumsily trip over her own two feet.

“I-I’m fine. I just tripped. Please, excuse me, I have to go,” the words rushed out of Mercy’s mouth, she hardly even heard herself speak them. Hurriedly, she pushed herself back on her feet running up the stairs, desperate to get to the nearest bathroom. She was going to be sick. Taking a sharp left, Merch turned down a narrow corridor and at the third door on her right she burst through, not even bothering to close and lock the door behind her. She white-knuckled the porcelain seat, ignoring the aching feeling passing through her joints, only focusing on the red hot pain shooting up her spine to her cranium. She was only able to suck in one breath before the contents of her stomach went racing up her esophagus, begging for release from her still bleeding lips. Mercy must’ve stayed there, hung over the disgusting toilet, for a good four minutes before she was finished emptying the entirety of her stomach, and was left to dry heave the bile stuck in the back of her throat. She spit into the discolored and foul smelling water, her hand searching for the knob to flush the vile contents of the toilet basin. She leaned back on her ankles gasping for air. Her throat felt raw and her headache was far from easing up. After a few moments, her racing heart began to slow. It was then that Mercy dared to open her eyes from being tightly squeezed shut, fighting the pain that had formed a wall behind her eyes. She squinted, her pupils adjusting to the harsh, white light from the only working bulb in the room. Taking one more deep breath, she started pushing herself off the floor, using the wall for support, and stumbled over to the only working sink in the multi-stall public restroom. She turned the knob for cold water, quickly splashing her face to wash the beads of sweat running down her forehead. She cupped her hands under the steady stream of ice cold water, gathering as much as her small hands could hold, then tipped her head back to rinse out her mouth. Until she could get to her toothbrush and toothpaste in her room, this would have to suffice. She spit out the water and glared at her reflection in the mirror.

Despite what her “parents” had told her months ago when they bought her a one-way ticket to Satan’s playpen for naughty children, this was definitely not the best place for her to be. Before she arrived, her hair was thick, dark, and soft. Now it hung lifeless from her scalp, lacking the nutrients it needed to stay healthy. The black circles under her eyes looked like shiners any self-respecting boxer would wear with honor. Mercy’s skin, which used to glow with such youth and radiance, had turned from its naturally sun-kissed color to a sepulchral pallor. Her nails were chewed and broken, blank eyes stared back at her, not with the twinkle of youthful mirth they used to possess, but with the look of a girl who had been drugged, fatigued, and is now at the brink of death. Honestly, she resembled a zombie from one of those old black and white films. Mercy’s pale lips turned down in a hateful scowl as she took in her appearance. She turned away from the mirror and sulked out of the revolting bathroom leaving the stench of regurgitation behind. Quickly, she walked to her bedroom, her frown worsening when she noticed Malia was already in there.

“You look like death,” Maila commented snarkily. “Kinda smell like it, too.”

“Gee, I wonder if that has anything to do with watching a man take the leap himself,” replied Mercy, in no mood for Malia’s attitude tonight. Malia looked like she was about to respond, but thought better of it and turned to her bed so that she was facing the wall. A final _hmph_ was heard from Mercy as she gathered her small tote bag of toiletries. She double checked its contents, making sure it was all there, so she didn’t have to make multiple trips. _“Why did they make the bathrooms so far, dammit?”_ she thought to herself. _“Shampoo, check, conditioner, check. Soap, loofa, facewash, check, check, check, towel… towel? Dammit, where’s my towel?”_ Mercy searched under her bed for her favorite fluffy, baby blue towel. It just so happened that her towel matched her eyes almost perfectly, and she has had it ever since she was twelve. Back then it was huge around her, but presently, it was the perfect fit and after years of being used, it never lost its softness, nor did it ever lessen in quality.

“Malia, have you seen my towel? The baby blue one?” she asked, still searching around the nearly bare room.

“I think I saw a nurse toss it in the laundry this morning,” she replied, moving her head to the side so that she could see Mercy from her peripheral view.

“Shit! Now, what am I gonna shower with?” asked Mercy, mainly speaking to herself.

In a rare moment of kindness, Malia shifted on her bed so she was partially facing Mercy, who was standing at the foot of her own bed. “I have a spare. A green one, over by the shelf,” she said quietly, pointing over to the wall nearest to the foot of her bed. Each patient owns their own bed and uncomfortable mattress, and if they don’t bring their own pillow and blanket, the facility provided them with some rather unsatisfactory ones. Each patient is also given a small shelf, two feet long and ten inches wide, metal and screwed into the wall, presumably to prevent the truly demented from tearing them down and somehow killing themselves with it or anyone else, for that matter. Each patient is also issued a facility standard-sized tote bag, to bring their toiletries with them to the restrooms. Malia’s shelf was almost empty, save for her tote bag and two towels, one white and one green.

“Are you sure? I know you don’t like sharing your things,” Mercy said a tad sheepishly. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortable with the turn of events.

“Yeah, you can borrow it. I only use the white one and besides, your scent will be washed off before it matters, anyways,” Malia said nonchalantly. Mercy shook off the weird comment about scent. “Hurry up and take it, before I change my mind!” Malia said hurriedly, clearly also uncomfortable. They didn’t do the whole “being nice” thing very well. Not when it came to each other. Mercy walked over and awkwardly grabbed the towel, hesitating for just a moment.

“Thanks. I.. I’ll lay it over my bed to dry tonight, and I’ll wash it tomorrow for you,” she said, grabbing her tote bag. She knew Malia was just being nice in lieu of the recent events, which went against her very nature, but Mercy truly appreciated the gesture. She nodded once more before leaving the room and the awkward tension within it.

“Hey!” Malia called after her. _Sigh_.

“Yeah?”

“Uhm… well, it’s just that. If you don’t want to take a cold shower, the uh… the boys’ bathroom has warmer water,” she said, now standing at the door way.

“Thanks, Malia,” Mercy hurried off, glad that Malia had told her this new piece of information. Mercy had been taking quick cold showers for days while she was waiting for maintenance to fix the situation in the girls’ shower room.

Mercy walked down the dormitory halls, past the visitors’ lounge and the sitting room, searching for the west wing lavatory. Soon enough she found the boys’ shower room, and leaned against the door to listen for any activity inside. It was radio silent, it seemed. Checking that the coast was all clear, with no sign of the Orderlies walking the halls, she pushed the door open and went to the showerhead in the darkest corner of the room, all the way in the back. She reached for the knobs, turned the hot water handle and waited for the spray of water to warm up. As soon as the steam started to swirl in her immediate vicinity, she undressed, shoving the clothes to the bottom of her bag, which she hung on a hook that was out of the reach of the water. Stepping under the warm water brought a sigh to her lips. As it cascaded over her sore muscles, she felt her knots loosen under the glorious heat. It was just so relaxing to finally shower with warm water after so many days of cold ones. The water pressure in the boys’ shower room was surprisingly strong, which also helped in relieving her aches and pains. She relished under the water as it wet her hair, turning her face towards the shower head. Reaching her hand out to her tote bag, she grabbed all the necessary toiletries. Squirting a sizeable amount of shampoo on her palm, she massaged the lavender freesia and lily-scented liquid into the roots of her hair, smiling as she felt the thick substance lather under her fingertips.

She piled the suds on top of her head and poured a bit of liquid body wash onto her green loofa. She carefully scrubbed her body so as to not irritate her skin, despite the soothing nature of her moisturizing soap. Stepping directly under the warm water, yet again she rinsed her hair and body, lathering a matching conditioner through her wet and now, brittle hair. Mercy spent a good 45 minutes under the warm water, not wanting to leave the comfort of the almost stifling room. However, like most good things, the shower had to come to an end. She wrapped her body with Malia’s surprisingly soft, green towel, thankful for the girl’s rare sweet gesture. She tucked the corner of the towel just under her arm and around her chest and padded over to the fogged up mirror. Once there, she slid her hand across the cool surface of the looking glass in order to properly see her reflection. The hot shower had done her well. Her face wasn’t so oily anymore and her hair was curling very slowly into ringlets around her face. She reached back into her tote bag taking out her nearly empty leave-in-conditioner and favorite comb. She carefully combed the teeth through her wet curls after massaging a generous amount of conditioner into her hair, from root to tip. After a good ten minutes, she was done, hair brushed through so well, the knots had disappeared, though the curls were springing back in place, so it wouldn’t take long before her hair was knotted, again. Oh, the struggles of naturally wavy hair. Mercy supposed everyone had their crosses to bear. She just happened to have more than one.

Mercy parted her hair as she usually did, then turning away from the counter, she bent forward moving her hair over her head. She ran her fingers through her hair, shaking her hair loose from the thick clumps they formed as she combed her hair. She flipped her hair back and quickly smoothed out the lumps and kinks that had formed. Mercy _hated_ going to bed with wet hair, knowing that when she would wake the next day, the frizzy bedhead would be unmanageable. Oh well, at least she’d look like a real patient with her wild, untamable curls. Then, not taking off the towel, fearing a man would walk through the door at any moment, she slipped on her underwear and clothes, making sure that none of her more private areas were visible at any given time, even to herself. She was walking out of the boys’ shower room minutes later, holding her tote bag in one hand and her brown slippers in the other, reluctant to put her wet feet in the tattered shoes, when she ran into Brunski. _“Crap!”_ she thought.

“Well, what in the Devil’s name could you, little girl, be doing in the boys’ shower room?” he asked, a menacing smile taking form on his lips.

“The girls’ room doesn’t have any hot water,” she responded truthfully.

“Well, while you were in there taking your sweet time, lights out had already been called. An hour ago,” he added.

“Well, shit.”

“Language, girl.” Brunski added sharply, before replacing his stern face with a malicious grin that even the Cheshire Cat would fear. Mercy’s eyes widened incrementally, which Brunski ate up before he continued. “And you know what that means, right?”

“But, I was in the shower! There was no way I would’ve been able to hear you through the noise!” she said, desperate to escape Brunski. He had creeped her out from the first time she met him. She could feel how much he enjoyed making his dependants suffer. Brunski was the sickest orderly out of everyone that worked at Eichen House.

“Well, that’s just a shame, isn’t it?” he said. His hand shot out and latched onto Mercy’s wrist tightly. She cried out, heart pounding in her chest, fearing what was to come.

“What’s going on here?” Mercy spun around, while Brunski, looking past the petite girl in front of him, made eye contact with Ms. Morrell.

“Nothing. Jacobs here, was out past her bedtime,” Brunski tightened his grip on Mercy’s wrist, eliciting a whimper from her.

“Can’t you see she was in the shower? Go back to your post, Brunski. I’ll escort her back to her dorm,” Ms. Morrell said, with a confident and demanding glare, setting her eyes alight. Brunski knew better than to challenge his superior, so after hesitating for a split second, he let go of Mercy rather forcefully. Immediately, Mercy cradled her wrist with her other hand, softly rubbing it to ease some of the pain. Bruises were already starting to form from the intense grip with which Brunski had held her. Ms. Morrell spun on her heel, briskly walking down the corridor towards the girls’ dormitory. Mercy followed close behind, not saying a word.

“You should be thanking me, you know,” Ms. Morrell said. Although it was at normal volume, her voice boomed through the empty, quiet corridors, echoing off the walls. Well, that explained Eichen’s nickname; Echo House, indeed.

“Thanks,” Mercy said meekly, just above a whisper. “I don’t think I could’ve handled another night in solitary. I _hate_ that place.”

Ms. Morrell nodded in understanding. “Are you coming to the group session tomorrow?”

Mercy tried to remember her schedule. The steamy shower made her feel lethargic. “Yeah, I believe so. I remember Oliver reminding me about it this morning at breakfast.”

“Good. Good,” Ms. Morrell responded dryly. “You could really benefit from those sessions. If only you would speak up, Mercy." she chastised. "Tell you what, tomorrow we’ll be discussing guilt. If you can participate tomorrow with good input, I’ll give you a get-out-of-solitary-free pass. It’ll last a week, and every time you come back for the monthly group session and actually _speak up_ , I’ll give you another. Deal?” Ms. Morrell bargained.

Mercy perked up at the thought of a get-out-of-jail-free card. She didn’t even have to think about her response.

“Deal.”

Ms. Morrell stopped at the dorm staircase. “This is your stop. I’ll see you tomorrow, Ms. Jacobs,” she said. She walked back down the way she came, leaving Mercy behind. Mercy climbed to the second floor going to her room. Brunski was right, it was well past lights out. The corridors were dimly lit, most of the doors to the rooms were closed. Hers, however was slightly ajar. _“Thanks, Malia,”_ she silently prayed. Once there, she saw that Malia was already fast asleep, blanket left on the floor, Malia having kicked it off. After a small debate, Mercy bent down and picked up the blanket, hastily spreading it over Malia, hoping she wouldn’t wake. Malia stirred slightly, but only clutched the blanket tighter, proof that the girl was far colder than Mercy had expected.

Mercy spread Malia’s towel over the metal railing at the foot of her bed, so it would dry overnight. She placed her tote bag on her shelf, and dug the dirty laundry from the bottom of the bag. She tossed it into the hamper by the doorway, knowing one of the nurses would pick it up in the morning. She pulled the blankets off the bed and climbed under them. Though she hated her parents right now, she was still grateful that they had checked Mercy in with her own pillows and blankets. They even shipped a new box of toiletry supplies every month, but she suspected that was just something they did to ease their guilt. After all, they did check her into Hell without her permission, it’s the very least they could do, since they never bothered to actually visit. Mercy angrily fluffed her pillow and did her best to fall asleep. No matter how angry and upset she was, she was still exhausted after the day’s events and the hot shower definitely relaxed her sore muscles. A soft rain pelted against the window lulling her to sleep.  

The next morning Mercy awoke to sunlight streaming in through the cloudy, cracked window. She groaned trying to cover her face with her blanket, desperate to get back to sleep.

“Get up! They’re doing inspection!” Malia whispered harshly. She was peering out of the doorway keeping watch. Mercy sat upright so fast from her bed, she lurched to the side and fell off. No time to dilly-dally, she stood up, ignoring the dancing black spots in her vision and quickly made her bed, smoothing out the wrinkles as best she could. The blankets were a bit lopsided, but there was no time to fix it, as Brunski stomped into the room making sure his presence was known.

“Step aside ladies, we’re doing a surprise inspection,” Brunski slowly walked around the room, taking in the filthy, bare, and vaguely white walls. Suddenly, he grabbed the edge of Malia’s mattress, flipping it upside down. There was nothing on the metal spring frame, as he suspected there was. He turned and did the same to Mercy’s bed, again expecting something to bust them for. Begrudgingly, he called an “All Clear,” to the orderly taking notes outside with a bag of confiscated items, and walked out, but not before he glared at them both, making eye contact with each of them. Both girls held his gaze, staring back with hard eyes, knowing that any sign of weakness would probably get him off. Finally, he broke eye contact and left to check the next room. Mercy sighed and began working on fixing her mattress. It only took her a few minutes to rearrange the thin mattress, not needing to reapply the bedding, since she had tucked it well the morning before. Malia’s, however, took the brunt of Brunski’s constant anger, and she had to not only rearrange the mattress, but also redo the bedding and the blankets.

After she finished her bed, Mercy walked out of their shared dormitory, mumbling a “see you later” to Malia, who couldn’t care less about whether she ever had to lay eyes on Mercy in the near future, all rare, nice gestures aside. Mercy headed outside, wanting to get a gulp of fresh air. She could feel the crazy and the post-mortem emotions from the patients and nurses around her. She needed out. She opened the door leading to the back courtyard breathing in deeply, grateful that not too many patients were around. She kept walking heading towards the bench when she spotted Oliver waving his hand above his head, beckoning Mercy to join him. She noticed the boy from the night before walking beside her friend, head swiveling on his shoulders as he took in his surroundings. Mercy could tell even from a distance that Oliver was giving his “grand tour speech”. The very same one he regaled her with, so many months before. The new kid probably could use a break, if his facial expression was anything to go by. Mercy tried to focus to get a read on the kid, but even with all the “background noise”, it didn’t take a whole lot of effort. He was oozing with anxiety. It was a tad bit overwhelming, if Mercy was being honest with herself. Normally, she would bypass someone with such strong emotions, partly because she didn’t want to be overcome by feelings that weren’t her own, but there was something about this boy who had taken time to make sure she was okay after what she witnessed last night. She still remembered his eyes. They were a gorgeous, golden brown. The color of a whiskey she recalls her father being particularly fond of. They had left an impression on her, that’s for sure.

As if reading her mind, those eyes of his stopped their endless searching when they found hers. It was strange, almost as if he could feel that she was watching him. His anxiety seemed to ease a bit, she could tell. _“Surely, that was purely coincidental,”_ Mercy thought to herself. The boy’s lips quirked, almost in a smile, but it was obvious he was unsure of himself. Mercy decided to give him a break and return his smile.

“That’s Mercy,” she overheard Oliver tell the boy, as they drew nearer to where she stood. She nodded, acknowledging what he said. Then, as if the boy had second thoughts, he asked, “Are you two…you know, together? You seem… close.” Mercy scoffed, inwardly cringing at the thought of actually dating Oliver.

“No, Ollie and I are are not together. Please, think a little more highly of me, new kid,” Mercy said smiling. Ollie placed a hand over his heart, feigning being hurt. The grin that spread across the new boy’s face did not go unnoticed by her.

“Guess what?” he said a playful smile forming on his lips. “Yesterday was just, like, _my_ day. I started my soon-to-be legendary rock collection, like I told you, and while I was looking for some cool ones, I swallowed a freaking bug. I swear it’s still buzzing inside me. Then, just after dinner, that asshole, Brunski, did a surprise inspection. Tied me to the bed, using his personal favorite: Five Points,” he recounted his story, with a huge smile, like he was actually proud of being caught with rocks under his pillow and being subdued for it.

“That’s disgusting, Oliver,” the boy said, scrunching his nose. Mercy’s stomach did a somersault, which she did her best to ignore, continuing the conversation.

“You weirdo, you’re proud of that? You’d better watch out, you’ll scare newbie here away,” Mercy joked. “Does newbie, happen to have a name?” she asked, raising her eyebrows in question.

“Yeah, uh, St-Stiles,” he stuck his hand out in front of him. Mercy eyeballed the blushing boy and gave him a firm handshake.

“Welcome to Arkham Jr., Stiles, where the food is disgusting, and the Orderlies have a bondage kink,” Mercy winked, when his eyes widened in recognition of her Batman reference. Instead of acknowledging it like she thought he would, he shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable with being in the loony bin.

“So… Is there a phone, I can use to call my dad with? This place is anything but safe for me, or anyone, for that matter,” he asked, looking at Mercy.

“Over there,” she said pointing the brick wall a few yards away.

Standing by the phones was Meredith, one of the least sane patients at Eichen House. Mercy remembered the first week of being at Eichen, she was constantly in solitary. There was a vent in the ceiling of the room she frequented, too high to actually reach, but low enough that she could clearly hear whoever was on the other side. At first it was mainly mumbling and small shrieks. Mercy had tried to “sense” whoever it was, but she couldn’t read the person. Like there was a steel wall between them. She could tell the wall was there, but there was no way to get around, under, or over it. So she called out to whoever else happened to be living the same hell she was. The mumbling had stopped for a second, then it turned into a full-on conversation with nobody, but that same person. Mercy could tell it was a girl, but the girl seemed to be speaking to someone else in the room. _“Probably has an imaginary friend,”_ Mercy thought sarcastically. She tried eavesdropping on the one-sided conversation many times, but the sentences made no sense without knowing what else was being said. Eventually, Mercy just tuned the girl out and did her best to not die of absolute boredom in the white padded room.

Stiles had walked up to the payphone, waiting behind the girl, while Mercy remained lost in thought. She walked towards the pair, sticking with the newbie.

“No. No. I think you’re wrong. I really think I should tell them. They’re going to want to know the whole story. The whole story. I really think they should know. Yes, I do. One of them is standing behind me,” Meredith whispered into the receiver. Stiles looked at her with a confused expression, and watched as the girl walked briskly away, as if she were terrified of the skinny boy. Stiles glanced at Oliver commenting on how much weirder she was than him. Mercy giggled beside them, leaning on the brick wall. Stiles picked up the phone, not hearing the usual buzz. He hung up, glaring at the two of them.

“It’s dead.”

“Yeah, they turn off all the phones for 24 hours after a suicide,” replied Ollie. Mercy had completely forgotten about that rule.

“Why didn’t you tell me that before?” Stiles asked accusingly.

“Why didn’t you ask?” Oliver retorted. Then, “What are you going to do now?”

“I’m getting out of this nuthouse,” Stiles said, sighing with exasperation. Mercy shrugged, knowing it was much easier said than done. She turned, sensing the familiar mental signature of Mercy’s roommate. She figured Malia just came to bug Ollie and Mercy, as she usually did. Instead she stared at Stiles, a hint of betrayal hitting Mercy’s senses.

“Malia? Hey. It’s Stiles. Do you remember me? I’m friends with Scott. Remember? We were the ones that helped you out with...”

Suddenly, Malia pushed her fist forward, punching Stiles squarely on the jaw. The boy flew sideways, clutching the side of his face. Mercy gasped, kneeling next to Stiles. An orderly came running trying to subdue Malia. The three of them argued for a while before Ms. Morrell arrived, stopping the scene before them. Mercy didn’t really pay attention, just looked at Stiles and gingerly moved his fingers from his face. He grimaced, but didn’t say much, just tilting his head so Mercy could get a better view.

 _“Woah. That is one strong jaw line if I ever did see one,”_ Mercy thought as she “checked” it out.

“So, did you just fall for me?” Mercy asked, trying to bring a smile to Stiles face. She was justly rewarded. She couldn’t remember the last time someone’s smile had actually made her day.

“That was the cheesiest shit I’ve ever heard. You really expected that to work?” Stiles questioned with a chuckle.

“Guys seem to think that line works for them, why not me? I thought I’d give it a go,” Mercy grinned and gave the boy an overly exaggerated wink. She stood up and held out her hands to help him up, which he began to take, but he stopped and looked down, at his left hand. There were indents on his palm from the grate he had fallen on top of.  Mercy could feel the powerful anxiety wash over him as fear and recognition gripped his heart. He leaned down to get a better look through the grate, breathing becoming heavier and more labored with each breath. “Stiles? Stiles!” Mercy said loudly. He snapped out of his trance, but his anxiety never left him. Ms. Morrell got a good look at him and knelt down to their level. Mercy looked at her and sensed her calmness, which in turn slowed Mercy’s pounding heart a bit. She took that piece of emotion and spoon-fed just a little bit of it to Stiles, hoping his erratic breathing and heavy emotions would ease, even the slightest bit. His emotions remained the same, but Mercy saw him take deeper breaths, attempting to slow his racing heart.

“You saw something, didn’t you?” Ms. Morrell said, her dark, calm eyes boring into Stiles’ wide ones.

“That basement. I’ve been there before,” he said, voice laced with an eerie sense of recognition that wasn’t present before. His hazel eyes shifted and locked onto Mercy’s clear, blue ones. She felt a strange sensation coming from him, not quite anxiety, but something deeper. Ms. Morrell helped him off the ground and turned away. One could tell she was deep in thought by the way her eyebrows crept towards each other.

“I’ll see you both in group therapy,” she said over her shoulder as she briskly walked towards her office. Stiles and Mercy only stood there, minds preoccupied with Stiles’ comment.


	3. One Is Bound To Get Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Welcome back, friends! Another week, another chapter! Here’s the third chapter of “Disturbing the Void” aka DTV. Here’s what you can look forward to in this chapter; a group session, a slightly risque shower scene (slightly), lots of Miles (Mercy and Stiles) interaction which is always good for the soul, and the devastation that is Stiles becoming Void. So, basically, good times ahead! Again, we have a slight recap for you because a lot happens in a week and we understand. Thanks for sticking with us and enjoy “One Is Bound To Get Out”! If you have any questions, comments, let us know! We love those!
> 
> Disclaimer: We still do not own Teen Wolf or its characters. Mostly, because Jeff is a bully and he won’t consider it (yet). 
> 
> Warning(s): Possible trigger(s): Slight emotional distress, stressful situation(s), lots of fluff

“That basement. I’ve been there before,” he said, voice laced with an eerie sense of recognition that wasn’t present before. His hazel eyes shifted and locked onto Mercy’s clear, blue ones. She felt a strange sensation coming from him, not quite anxiety, but something deeper. Ms. Morrell helped him off the ground and turned away. One could tell she was deep in thought by the way her eyebrows crept towards each other.

“I’ll see you both in group therapy,” she said over her shoulder, as she briskly walked towards her office. Stiles and Mercy only stood there, minds preoccupied with Stiles’ comment.

 

* * *

 

“I want to go back to the topic of guilt today. It might surprise you to hear me say that guilt is a good thing. It's a rather mature emotion. Malia, you said something about guilt the other day. You said it came with a visceral reaction,” Ms. Morrell commented towards the circle of patients. Not long after Stiles’ and Malia’s little skirmish, the group therapy began with all four of them, Stiles, Malia, Oliver, and Mercy, present.

Malia looked around uncomfortably before responding, “I said it made me feel sick to my stomach.”

“Guilt often becomes physical. You feel it in your gut. It's not just psychological. How does guilt make you feel, Stiles?” Ms. Morrell responded, stimulating more conversation and input from the patients.

“I'm sorry, what?” Stiles had zoned out. Mercy tore her gaze away from her hands, where she was twiddling her thumbs, bored out of her mind, to glance at him sitting to her left.

“Guilt. What does it make you feel?”

“Nervous,” he replied.

“Like a sense of urgency? You feel an urgent need to make up for something you've done. To apologize. These are healthy responses. What about you, Mercy?  How would you describe guilt?”

“Umm,” Mercy scratched the back of her hand, suddenly nervous. “Guilt. Well, guilt, the emotion, is roughly defined as feeling bad about something you did. It’s related to what’s right and wrong, moral and immoral,” she paused, debating whether or not she should continue. “It’s also related to shame, but it’s not the same thing. One feels shame when they have recognized their own failure to meet their own behavioral standard, but guilt is when one doesn’t meet the behavioral standards of someone else. Simply put, guilt reflects the human doing and shame reflects the human being,” Mercy ranted. Guilt was one emotion she was well acquainted with. Whether it was her own guilt or someone else’s, she has felt it various times. Mercy had been in a constant state of guilt and shame when Angela still controlled her actions. Making people cry, and feel such pain was something she could never forgive herself for.

“Extremely well said, Mercy. It’s true, shame and guilt are two closely related emotions. However, not everyone feels them. Does anyone know what we call someone who doesn't experience guilt?” Ms. Morrell continued, one eye trained on Stiles.

“Sociopath,” Oliver chipped in.

“That's right, Oliver,” Ms. Morrell nodded, yet she still kept her eyes trained on Stiles. Mercy noticed how he fidgeted in his seat, his face growing paler with each second, eyes searching for something no one else could see. Right when Mercy was about to lean over and quietly ask him if he was okay, Ms. Morrell interrupted.

“I'm sorry, everyone, but we need to take a break. Come with me, Stiles. I'd like to talk with you for a minute.” Both therapist and patient stood, walking towards Ms. Morrell’s office. Oliver, Malia, and Mercy were left staring at their retreating figures, confusion etched across their faces.

“What could she possibly want with him?” Malia voiced the question running through all their minds.

“Well, did you see how strange he was acting? He just couldn't sit still,” Mercy remarked, still sitting in her chair.

“Probably because he was sitting next to you,” Ollie muttered under his breath.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, just… Well, he stared at you for a good ten minutes is all I’m saying. Dude probably likes you.”

“Shut up, Ollie. You don’t know what you’re saying. We literally just met this morning. If anything, he’s creeped out by all the actual loonies here,” Mercy said glancing at the woman to her right who was eating her hair. The woman didn’t even hear Mercy’s comment and moved on to biting her nails.

“Either way, Ms. Morrell noticed,” Ollie stated.

“Yeah, well that’s none of my business. I’m gonna go take a shower,” Mercy stood and left the room. Talking about such strong emotions left her feeling dirty, and a nice hot shower seemed like the best place to clear her thoughts. She leisurely walked to her dorm room, she had all day to waste. One of the only perks of being stuck in Eichen House was that Mercy was no longer obligated to do schoolwork. She still read constantly, to keep her mind off the powerful emotions that surrounded her 24/7, but until the Jacobs shipped her more books to read, Mercy was left to twiddle her thumbs.

Once Mercy reached her dorm she stuffed clean clothes and her freshly washed towel into her tote bag and walked towards the boys’ shower room. Once again, it was empty since most of the men had already showered, or at least the ones that were sane enough to even bother to do so. Mercy hung her tote bag on the hook just outside the shower she had used the night before, turned it on, and stripped naked. She tossed her dirty clothes into the bag, after taking out the body wash, not really giving her actions it much attention. She stepped under the hot spray, adjusting the temperature of the water so it wouldn’t scald her sensitive skin.

Mercy knew she was taking a risk by showering in the boys’ facility during daylight hours, but she thought she’d manage to finish before anyone would catch her. Naturally, she was wrong. Story of her life. The door opens and she hears someone muttering to himself, feeling a sudden burst of anxiety that didn’t belong to her.

“Okay, you just gotta stay awake, Stiles, you just gotta…”

Looking behind her, she noticed Stiles had just realized that he wasn’t the only one in the room. He seemed confused to see her there and she couldn’t really blame him. She grabbed her towel, wrapping it around around her body to shield herself, simultaneously turning off the water in the shower, thankful that she had almost finished her routine when Stiles had shown up, so she didn’t have suds in her hair. Bless him, he had already turned his head when he had noticed she was indecent.

“Uh… Sorry, I, uh, I thought this was…” he gestured wildly and vaguely to himself. A smirk made its way onto the girl’s mouth as she tried not to laugh at the awkwardness permeating the air. “Imma just go, so…”

“You’re not in the girls’ room, Stiles,” Mercy called, as he went to grab the door handle.

“Oh, that’s good…Wait, what?” he asked with bewilderment. Mercy did laugh this time, which made the boy look at her, seeming to forget why he had stopped in the first place, then realizing why, when he saw the towel that covered her body.

“Oh God, sorry,” he mumbled looking away, again, and if his eyes had lingered a bit longer than they probably should have, well, neither of them were going to acknowledge that.

“It’s alright. I mean, I am in the boys’ room, technically. At least, you’re not one of the actual crazies. Or worse, Brunski…” she commented, with a shudder.

“Why are you in the boys’ room, exactly?” Stiles questioned, eyes now trained on the ceiling.

“Well, there’s this thing that’s commonly accepted by society. It’s insisted that hygiene is of utmost importance, so you know, I’m being hygienic,” Mercy almost laughed when Stiles, again, forgot her state of undress to give her a look of squinty-eyed annoyance. “It’s called _showering_ , Stiles. I figured that was pretty obvious,” Mercy deadpans, with a gesture at her wardrobe. Or lack thereof, as the case may be.

“I can see that. I mean, I saw that. Not that I saw much of anything. That’s not to say there was nothing to see, but there was too much steam. Uh, I’m not saying there should have been less steam…” Stiles rambled on, watching as the girl crossed her arms and quirked an eyebrow, amusement playing at her lips.

“You don’t do this too often, do you?”

“Uh, walk in on people while they’re showering? Or talk to beautiful girls while they’re mostly naked?” Stiles questioned.

“Well, when you put it that way… Both?” Mercy chose not to melt at the adjective Stiles used to describe her. Not visibly, at least.

“I mean, I try not to make a habit of the first one. The second hasn’t really presented itself to me that often, either, so...” Stiles shrugged. Both of them knew they should be far more uncomfortable considering the situation, but after the initial shock, a sense of calm had settled over the room, much like the steam from Mercy’s interrupted shower. Mercy had never felt so settled around another person as she did with the boy with molten eyes, which was odd, considering his constant anxiety. It was even more odd because, for once, she wasn’t manipulating the serenity, subconsciously or otherwise. Usually, Mercy would question how much unintentional control she had over emotional situations, but this time, she knew the calm was genuine. “So, you generally make it a habit to shower in the boys’ room, or...?”

“Eh, it’s a new thing. A little birdy told me the water was hotter in here. For once, seems she was right,” Mercy gave a shrug.

“You don’t seem like you belong here,” Stiles stated, giving her another searching look.

“Uh, yeah, I think we already established that. I’m telling you, the water is freezing in the girls’ showers…”

“That’s not what I meant,” Stiles interrupted, a slight smile gracing his lips. “I meant, you don’t seem like you belong in Eichen. You, uh, seem…” he was searching for words, hands turning, mindlessly agitating the steam still swirling in the hot shower room, almost as though he was scared that his first impression of her was wrong.

“Sane?” Mercy smiled when he nodded. She gave him a small tilt of the head, almost as if she were testing him. “You don’t seem particularly crazy yourself, but here we both are, so...” she shrugs. “You know, crazy people don’t know they’re crazy, right?”

“I’ve heard that, yes. Crazy people usually don’t acknowledge that statement, so I think you’re good,” Stiles smirked.

“Well, for what it’s worth, you don’t seem entirely insane, either,” Mercy replies. “Maybe just a little tired.”

Mercy watched as his face dropped. She was curious as to why, but didn’t want to push. She didn’t think she said anything particularly upsetting, but she felt his anxiety kick up a notch.

“Uh, yeah, I haven’t been sleeping well,” he said, a little nervously. Stiles started to rub the back of his neck, no longer sharing eye contact. Mercy never thought she’d miss his stare so much. She moved forward until there was only a few inches between them. Unsure as to why she was acting so boldly, Mercy grabbed his wrist to get him to stop the nervous action. Stiles let her and looked up to notice how little space was left between them. He could see the individual water droplets dripping from her wet curls, they were so close. His eyes couldn’t help, but follow one that raced down the graceful slope of her neck. It was a bit mesmerizing.

Mercy felt like all of the air had been sucked out of the room as she watched his eyes pave a trail, starting at her neck and ending at her collarbone. When he looked up, again, she felt intoxicated. There was so much emotion swirling around her, it was overwhelming. Stiles was an absolute stranger and, yet their heady connection was undeniable. Mercy couldn’t breathe and she wasn’t sure if she was willing to take a step back in order to do so. She did look away, however, remembering that she still had a grip on his wrist. Letting go, she took a step backwards.

“Uh, sorry… I, I, uh…” Mercy stammered, whilst Stiles chuckled. Oh, how the tables had turned with Mercy becoming the awkward one. “Sorry, I just don’t… It makes me nervous when I notice others’ nervous ticks, I guess?”

Stiles blushed, slightly. Still, he gave her another grin.

“I’m going to drive you nuts, then. I have a lot of nervous ticks.”

“Well, I guess we met in the right place, huh?” Mercy winked.

“I’m sure there are far better places we could have met, Mercy,” Stiles eyes took on a concerned look as they roamed her face. “Anywhere, but here, actually.”

“Why are you here, Stiles?” Mercy asked. She knew he didn’t deserve to be here. Empathic abilities or not, Mercy knew Stiles wasn’t troubled enough to be here.

“I’m trying to keep my friends safe,” he whispered, head bent so that he was looking at her through his incredibly long lashes.

“Safe from what?” Mercy asked, her eyes widening and searching his face as if he held the answers to the universe. She didn’t realize how close they had inched towards each other, until the door to the communal bathroom banged into the wall, making them both jump. Mercy grasped at her towel, making sure it was snug around her frame. She had, honestly, forgotten how bare she was while she was alone with Stiles, in more ways than one. It didn’t seem to matter, in the slightest. Now, however, she was extremely uncomfortable. Stiles stepped in front of Mercy to shield her almost bare body in an attempt for her to gain back some modicum of decency. The uninvited guest to the party was a tall guy with stringy hair stuck under a raggedy cap. He had this faraway look on his face that indicated he had no idea what he had walked in on or where he was. It was actually a common expression around Eichen, but this guy never snapped out of it.

“Um, hey, dude, we were just…” Stiles started to explain before he noticed the guy’s blank expression. “What’s with him?” he asked the girl behind him.

“That’s Crazy Kevin. He has no idea we’re here,” Mercy told Stiles. She went to grab her tote bag off it’s hook.

“Crazy Kevin, really? That seems kind of sardonic, doesn’t it?” he asked her, as she grabbed his hand to pull him behind her.

“Nice word. I didn’t come up with it. It’s just what everyone calls him. Is your room nearby?” she asked, to which he nodded in confusion. “Cool. Hey, Kevin. See you, later, sweetie,” Mercy released Stiles long enough to give the unseeing man a small wave and to pull the door open. She latched herself onto Stiles’ wrist again when he didn’t follow right away, dragging him with her. “Will you come on? I’m starting to feel a draft here.”

Stiles stumbled behind her, nearly colliding with her back when she stopped in the middle of the hall.

“Lead the way… I need a room to change in without having to walk all the way to other side of this building,” Mercy tilted her head to look at him. “I just realized I have no idea what your surname is and it’s really beginning to throw me off.”

“Stilinski,” Stiles told her, as he started walking to the room that he and Oliver shared.

“Wait, you’re trying to tell me your name is Stiles Stilinski? Seriously? That’s like naming your kid John Johnson or Edward Edwards,” Mercy commented as they made it to his room. She gestured for him to close the door, grateful that Ollie wasn’t present.

“It’s a nickname. My first name is beyond pronunciation for anyone, so I go by Stiles. What exactly are you doing?” he questioned.

“Skinning a bear,” she blinks at him. “What does it look like, Stilinski?” she said, shifting to pull up her underwear, while still wearing her towel. “Could you, you know?”

“Huh?” he questioned, eyes traveling up her legs. She coughed and he noticed her finger making a twirl gesture, asking him to turn around. “Oh, uh, right! Sorry, sorry.”

He turned to face the door, standing sentry, when a blush crept up his neck and Mercy knew she had never seen anything more adorable than a flustered Stiles Stilinski. She was pulled out of her thoughts when he asked her a question, still not looking, of course.

“What’s your last name? Since you had to know mine, I mean.”

“I’m done. You can turn around now. It’s Jacobs, by the way.”

Mercy had just finished hooking her bra, her bare back facing Stiles, when she heard the deep intake of breath, the wall she was facing being the only witness to her devilish smirk. She turned around with a raised eyebrow and placed her hands on her hips.

“I, uh, thought you said you were done?” Stiles spluttered. Mercy picked up her leggings to shimmy into.

“The important parts are covered,” she shrugged. "Stiles, you still with me?” Mercy questioned, waving a hand in front of his face, his eyes were practically about to fall out of his head, yet they continued to roam over the exposed flesh all the same.  His eyes raked over the front of her undies, the black batman logo visible. She watched his Adam’s apple bob aggressively as he gulped.

“All I gotta say is, ‘Holy heck, Batman,’” he muttered, eyes starting to make their way back to her face, his cheeks on fire. Her laugh rang in the small room.

“Cute, you noticed I’m wearing Batman underwear. You’re hysterical. I knew you liked Batman. You got the Arkham joke,” she said, sliding the dark leggings over her legs, head bent, hair covering her face like a wild and unruly curtain. Once done with that task, she grabbed her gray, oversized t-shirt to pull over her head, covering up the matching lingerie of Stiles’ dreams. She noticed her companion’s lips had jutted out in a semi-duck like expression, his eyebrows raised, eyes still wandering. It was rather comical to look at, if Mercy was being honest with herself.

Mercy collapsed onto the bed that was situated on her left, Stiles’ eyes snapping back to her face. Mercy shifted from lying on the bed, to sitting up and crossing her legs in a meditational style in five seconds flat. She watched Stiles for a moment, unsure of what to say. On one hand, what Stiles had said about needing to keep his friends safe was stuck on an endless loop in her mind. On the other hand, she didn’t want to bring up such a serious subject, again. If Mercy could have all the time in the world to sit here, without worrying about being caught, and just talk to Stiles, she probably would. Boredom didn’t seem to strike nearly as often since he had arrived.

“What are you thinking?” Stiles asked, so quietly, she’s almost sure she didn’t hear him. Her crystalline eyes roamed his face, paying attention to the moles he had scattered across his face. Mercy just knew they’d form constellations if she got close enough. Making eye contact, again, she shook her head, opening her mouth to form words she didn’t have yet. Once again, they were interrupted by the door opening. Stiles went to stand in front of Mercy, who stood up so fast, she nearly lost her balance. She grabbed onto the boy’s forearm, to steady herself, causing his back to become flush with her chest.

“Oh, hey, buddy! I was wondering where you had… What do we have here?” Oliver asked, seeing his new roommate and his friend sharing the same space. His already large grin grew, if that was even possible. Mercy sighed and leaned forward to rest her head, which she had forgotten was still wet, between Stiles’ shoulder blades. Her hold still on the brown-eyed boy, she felt him shiver from the water that was soaking through his t-shirt by way of her scalp.

“Oh, shit. Sorry,” Mercy muttered, rubbing at the back of his shirt, which ended up turning into an unconscious stroking of his back. “Hey Ollie, how’s it going?” she asked the newcomer, with a smile so filled with innocence, it was terrifying to Stiles. They hadn’t been doing anything wrong, yet he still felt like they had been caught in the act. Mercy’s rubbing his back, though as innocent as it was, was making it difficult for Stiles to function.

“Did I interrupt something?” Oliver asked with a waggle of his eyebrows. Mercy laughed at the other boy and Stiles really was beginning to question her sanity. She had just flipped the emotional script so fast. He could almost hear the Nogitsune inside him asking if she was playing Oliver or if she was playing him. The demon fox liked to play mind games with him by targeting Stiles’ insecurities.

“Nah. Stiles was just letting me borrow your room to change. Couldn’t be caught by Brunski after using the boys’ showers again. Morrell might have given me a get-out- of-jail-free card, but I’m not going to push my luck, ya know?” Stiles watched as the other boy nodded, clearly not convinced. “Anyways, I’m out. See you later, boys,” Mercy gave Stiles a final pat on the back, grabbed her tote and made a brisk exit.

“Uh, bye,” Stiles said confused, with a small wave that was tinged with awkwardness.

“Bye!” Oliver called out before turning back to Stiles with a cheeky grin and wagging his eyebrows once more.

“Quit it, Oliver,” Stiles said in a tone that indicated he was far from in the mood, for Oliver’s questions. Stiles left the room, focused on finding a way to get to the basement. After reaching the bottom of the stairs and walking forward a few feet, he nearly ran into Malia. “Oh! Sorry, Malia. I didn’t see you there,” he apologized

“Yeah, I can tell, you nitwit. Now get out of my way,” Malia's eyes glowed blue with anger.

“Hey! Hey, what are you doing? You can’t shift here. You have to control it,” Stiles clutched her arm dragging her into the janitor's closet to his right.

“I can’t, Stiles! I spent practically my entire life as a coyote, controlling anything while being human isn’t exactly my forte,” she groaned.

“Focus! Focus,” he gripped her arms tight, making her focus more on his rough hands than on her shift. Soon enough, Malia's eyes returned to their usual color and her breathing had settled down.

“I can help you. Find someone to help you control it, I mean. But I need your help first,” he bargained. Malia stared at him, visibly debating whether to trust the boy that had ruined her life or not. She nodded slowly, hesitantly, reaching a conclusion. “Good. I need you to tell me who has the keys to the basement,” Stiles asked.

“Brunski. He has keys to everything. I can swipe them for you. But, I swear on my life Stiles if you double-cross me, I will end you,” she said, leaving the confines of the closet, body language hostile. Stiles nodded, and the plan was set.

 

* * *

 

Mercy had just finished with her dinner and was now lounging in the sitting room. She hadn’t seen Stiles at dinner and it had been hours since she had last seen him, after she had left his room earlier that afternoon. She still kind of regretted leaving like she did, but as much as she liked Ollie, she really hadn’t shared much with him as far as personal things went. Hell, so far Stiles was the only patient who knew her last name, unless they had overheard one of the attendings call her by it. She just wasn’t a sharer of intimate details. That’s why Morrell called her out for not speaking up in group. Mercy bit her lip, worried something had happened to him. She wasn’t quite sure why she was so worried, she barely knew him, but Mercy did know that being around Stiles was unlike being with any other person she had ever met. She felt comfortable with him, safe, and at home. No matter how strange that seemed to Mercy, she knew it was true.

Just then, Oliver waltzed in, trailing behind Crazy Kevin, poking the poor guy, trying to get a reaction out of the stoic man.

“Ollie! Will you quit messing with him? One of these days you’re gonna get into some serious trouble,” she chastised him from across the room. Oliver immediately stopped what he was doing, thinking it was an orderly that had reprimanded him. When his eyes landed on Mercy, his shoulders slumped, annoyance clear on his face.

“I was having fun, Mercy!” he walked over and sat on the armchair beside her. She narrowed her eyes at him and sighed.

“Hey, have you seen Stiles lately? He disappeared this afternoon and I haven’t heard from him since.”

“No, I haven't seen him,” Oliver answered dryly, staring at Mercy as if she had grown another limb. He tilted his head to the side like he was thinking really hard.

“What’s up with you? You’re acting stranger than usual,” Mercy commented, one eyebrow quirked as she surveyed her friend.

“Nothing’s wrong with me. Just seeing the world a little… differently now.”

“Whatever, Ollie, if you wanna get high off your meds, that’s on you,” Mercy sensed that Oliver wasn’t really himself. He seemed off, for lack of a better word. Well, more off than usual. Mercy’s “spidey senses were tingling” and she could feel something was wrong with him. Something had changed, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Mercy suddenly felt uncomfortable being around Oliver. She needed to cut their conversation short and run far away, as fast as possible.

“I heard from Malia, not too long before dinner, that he was trying to open the basement door when Brunski caught him. She had left too fast for him to notice her, and she didn’t look back. Brunski probably put him in a “chokehold” and after he was put to sleep, threw him in the “Quiet Room.” Seems plausible to me,” Oliver commented, still looking at Mercy with a strange expression.

“Alright. Thanks Oliver, I’ll- I’ll see you later,” Mercy hastily stood from her seat on the couch and left the room. Mercy was sure that by “chokehold,” Oliver meant Stiles had been tranquilized. She was all too well acquainted with that and the “Quiet Room.” It was a padded cell not too far from the basement door. It was Brunski’s favorite place to toss newbies their first month here. Mercy shuddered, knowing how scary it was to be tranquilized and to wake up inside that room. Mercy’s mind started going a million miles a minute, debating and trying to come up with a plan to bust him out. She vaguely remembered Stiles muttering to himself while she was in the shower earlier, urging himself to stay awake. She wondered what was up with his obsession on staying up as long as possible, but she knew there must have been a good reason for it. She made up her mind and made her final decision. She was going to get him out of there, no matter what she had to do.

As Mercy was winding her way through the cold halls of Eichen House she passed by Malia who was sitting on the floor, staring at her nails.   
“Hey, Malia. Can you help me with something?” Mercy asked timidly. Malia might have helped her the night before, but they were far from being on good terms.

“Why would I help you?”

“Well, a little birdie told me that you helped Stiles try to break in the basement, and now he’s in the QR. Judging by how you’re still out and about, I figured that Brunski doesn’t know you’re the one that helped him get the keys. I wonder… If I told him, would he toss you in solitary for a day, or a week?”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Malia growled, confirming Mercy’s suspicion.

“Try me.” A smirk founds its way to Mercy’s lips because she knew she had her. Malia was at her, well, mercy. Malia scowled at the smug girl, but stood up from her seat on the floor.

“What do you want, Jacobs?” she sneered. Malia was one of the few people who knew her last name. Brunski was a fan of using surnames when it came to his victims.

“Help me break him out. Swipe Brunski’s keys again, for me.”

“Are you serious? I’m gonna get caught!”

“Figure it out. I’ll be waiting in our room,” Mercy walked away, confident that Malia would comply.

Fifteen minutes later, Malia walked in, a smug smile on her face. “You have ten minutes, tops. I made a few asshole loonies fight each other in the sitting room. Brunski’s busy with them. He doesn’t know I took his keys, but sooner or later, he’s gonna go around looking for them. And I’m not getting sent to solitary for you, so go.”

She tossed the large ring of keys in Mercy’s lap before walking out again. Mercy nodded to herself, silently congratulating Malia on a job well done. She had a slight suspicion that Malia would’ve been caught in the act, but the girl had proved Mercy wrong. Mercy walked to the Quiet Room inconspicuously, keeping a leisurely pace. Soon enough she reached the door and checked if the coast was clear before trying to unlock it. The hall was empty, but she knew it wouldn’t stay that way for long. Careful not to jingle the keys too loudly, she tried each one successively. On the fourth try, the lock clicked and she turned the knob, quickly slipping inside, . Stiles was a heap on the floor, face scrunched up as if he were in pain. _“He’s probably having a nightmare. That explains why he wanted to stay awake earlier. Maybe he has severe night terrors…”_ Mercy knelt by his head and placed her hand over his mouth, to prevent him from crying out when he did wake up. She didn’t want to startle him, but she wasn’t trying to get caught, either. That wouldn’t be good for either of them. With her other hand, she gently shook his shoulder.

“Stiles. Stiles, wake up. Hey, c’mon, Batman, get up,” she whispered, shaking his shoulder with each word. He slowly stirred, hands clutching at the air. He mumbled, the noise muffled by Mercy’s hand and she shook his shoulder harder, shushing quietly. His eyes flew open, breathing heavily, panic clear in the muffled cry that escaped his lips.

“Hey! Hey, Stiles. It’s me, Mercy. It’s me, calm down. Breathe, breathe deeply,” she muttered, helping Stiles swallow his rising panic. She even focused some of her energy on him, manipulating his emotions slightly to ease his racing heart. Recognition sparked behind his eyes and he moved Mercy’s hand from his mouth.

“Sorry, I… How long was I out?” Stiles asked, getting up from the floor. He extended his hand to Mercy, who was still kneeling. She took his hand and let him help her up.

“A few hours, tops. You missed dinner; when I saw you weren’t there, I went looking,” she admitted.

“You were worried about me?” His voice was deep and husky from just being woken from a sedated sleep. It made Mercy’s stomach flip, but she kept her cool.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Stilinski. I just wanted to make sure you got some more meat on those bones,” she sassed, pulling her hand back from his grip.

“Nice to know you care so much,” Stiles mumbled sarcastically. Mercy childishly responded with the sticking-her-tongue-out routine. Stiles would have laughed any other time, but he was too busy trying to shake off the last effects of the sedative Brunski had forced on him. Mercy took the hint that he wasn’t in the mood and explained the next part of the plan.

“Listen, I know you want to get to the basement, but the basement door has been closed for years. No one ever goes down there. At least, not through that door,” she winked mischievously. “There’s another way, though, through the closed unit. That’s where they keep the real psychos,” Mercy slipped her hand into his, leading him out and through the halls of Eichen House. Once they reached the closed unit, she used Brunski’s keys to slip inside and open the second door to their right. While Stiles walked in, she tossed Brunski’s keys just outside the door to the closed unit, making it seem like he had just dropped them while making his rounds. She walked back to Stiles, both grinning like lunatics, surprised that the plan had actually worked.

The pair walked down the steep staircase using the faint light, shining down from the grates above, to show them the way. There were tools and large boilers down there, dusty from lack of cleaning. It had just occurred to Mercy that she had no idea why they were down here in the first place. She almost groaned at the lack of knowledge she had when it came to things that concerned Stiles. Ever since he arrived at Eichen, things had changed so much in such a short period of time, that she just managed to completely entangle herself with this boy that she hardly knew. The more logical part of her was really beginning to question her sanity.

“Uh, Stiles, why are we down here, exactly? I mean, what is it that you’re looking for?” she asks him, noticing his gaze had travelled to a wall directly across from where he stood. There was symbol that resembled a backwards “5” scratched into the wall. She felt Stiles’ recognition before he confirmed it.

“Something to do with that,” his eyes never strayed from their target. Mercy let go of Stiles’s hand to get a closer look. She ran her fingertips over the marking.

“What does it mean?” Mercy looked up to Stiles, waiting for an answer. The grooves in the wall almost looked as if they were made by some sort of claws. Mercy had no idea what could have done it.

“Self.”

“Maybe you should be a little more vague, Stiles,” she remarked sarcastically. He gave a nervous laugh. “How about you tell me more… Stiles?”

“You might not like me if you knew any more,” Stiles told her sadly.

“I find that hard to believe. Besides, we’ve all done bad things. Why should you be any different?” Mercy stood up from where she had kneeled by the mark on the wall and grabbed his hand again. She made sure he saw the sincerity in her eyes.

“You won’t get any judgment from me, Stiles.”

Stiles averted his gaze from Mercy’s unwavering stare and faced the mark on the wall again, he wouldn’t look at her as he explained. It actually bothered Mercy quite a bit that he wouldn’t look at her. “Come, sit on the couch with me,” Mercy held Stiles’ hand and lead him over to the rather tidy-looking, yet worn couch in the middle of the room. It must have been moved there recently, or else it would have been just as dusty as everything else in the basement.

“Well,” he started explaining, as he sat down to Mercy’s right. “I’ve been having these strange dreams for a while now. They vary, but they’re vivid, and it’s like... I get sleep paralysis when I’m in those dreams. I have to scream myself awake every night, so I’ve given up on sleeping,” Stiles spoke with his hands and Mercy had to grab the one closest to her, he was waving them so violently. She could tell it helped calm him, like she was an anchor of sorts. He slowed down a bit, taking a deep breath before he continued and giving the girl next to him a look that expressed he was grateful to her. Mercy’s thumb rubbed soothing circles against the back of his hand, letting a little reassurance and calm seep into him through their mental connection. “And what was worse was that sometimes, I had no clue when I was dreaming and when I was awake. It’s actually made me have spells where I sleepwalk and… let’s just say, I didn’t do good things. I started to become a danger to others, Merc, mainly my friends.”

Mercy listened with rapt attention as Stiles explained what he had been experiencing the past weeks; the fugue states, sleep paralysis, feeling of always being watched. Mercy thought it was sweet and brave of him to check himself into Eichen of his own volition to protect his friends. She could tell he really loved them, and he would do anything he could to protect them, and evidently, that included living in a crazy house for a few days. However, she felt he was leaving something huge out, but having only known him since that morning, she knew she couldn’t push the issue, nor was she going to. This was enough for now. Mercy was really beginning to question her sanity when it came to this boy. She hadn’t been sure if she was ever going to be able to trust anyone after the whole incident with Angela and her parents, but here she was, trusting Stiles to a fault. There was just something about him. There was something about him and her. The amount of sincerity in the room was making her near claustrophobic, so to ease her racing mind, she gave another look around the room.

Mercy noticed a drill next to a chair with leather straps attached to it. “Trepanation,” Mercy said quietly.

“What?” Stiles’ grip on Mercy’s hand unwavering.

“Trepanation. It’s when they drill a hole into your head. Oliver mentioned it, not too long ago. He was obsessed with it for a week. Asked every orderly about it until finally they just threw him into solitary for the day. It shut him up real quick,” Mercy explained, looking up at Stiles. She shivered, goosebumps rising on her skin, though she wasn’t sure if it was because of the cold draft in the room, or the thought of having a hole drilled into your head to let “evil spirits” out, or whatever the excuse had been back in the day.

“Are you cold?” Stiles asked, eying her shivering frame.

“Just a little, but I’m fine. It’s nothing I can’t handle,” Mercy replied, amid her clattering teeth.

“Here, move over, I’ll keep you warm,” the boy shifted so that he was now laying on the couch, back pressed into the cushions, a small space next to him.

“Is this you making a move, Stilinski?” she smirked, making him go a little red in the face as he started to sit up. She placed a hand on his shoulder, stilling his movement. “I’m too cold to care, at the moment,” Mercy eyed the boy, a slight blush starting to make its way up her own neck, despite the chill in the room, but she still moved to lay with him. Her head now rested on his chest, one of his arms wrapped around her upper back, hand resting on her forearm, the other draped across her waist. One of her hands was snuggled under her body comfortably warm, the other with her palm splayed across his chest, feeling his hard and steady heartbeat.

“Is this comfortable enough for you?”

“Yes, very,” Mercy replied, keeping her answer curt, not trusting her voice to keep from shaking. Here she was, a girl who hadn’t even had her first kiss, cuddling with the hottest, sweetest boy she had ever seen, in the basement of an insane asylum. She would have giggled at the preposterous thought, if Stiles’ hadn't brought her out of her thoughts by softly running his fingertips up and down her forearm. The small movement lulled her into a drowsy state, one where she was at the cusp of sleep, yet far enough from tipping over the edge that she was still able to form coherent thoughts and sentences. “Is this how you win the hearts of all the girls you meet?” she whispered softly, not really wanting to interrupt the quiet that had settled over the two of them.

“Does that mean I’m winning your heart?” Stiles smirked, keeping his voice low. Mercy found it strangely attractive, but she couldn't let that comment slide by, so she curled the fist that lay on Stiles’ chest into a fist and lightly punched him. He chuckled at her, impressed by the strength in her small hand. “I’m going to take that as a yes.”

“Oh my God, shut up, Stiles. You’re even more sarcastic than me and I didn’t think that was even possible,” she groaned, burrowing even more into his warmth as he gave her a cheeky grin that she pretended not to see.

“I promise you it’s more than possible. It’s a talent, a gift even,” the boy said in a smug tone, but keeping his voice barely above a whisper. Mercy gave a small snort.

“That’s questionable, sir,” the girl said, making him smile. She was tired, he could tell, so he decided to continue stroking her back instead of verbally responding.

They both went a while without speaking, words unnecessary. Stiles was content in his movements, choosing to watch the girl he was lulling to sleep. Mercy felt his stare, despite her eyes being closed and her mind starting to drift, but she wasn’t bothered by it. Oddly enough, his stare was like a blanket that she never wanted to be without again. Once again, though, she found herself questioning this whole instantaneous intimacy found with Stiles, this draw she felt to be near him. It was disconcerting.

All of a sudden, she felt him stop stroking her back and lift his hand. She wanted to open her eyes and figure out why the sudden change, but she didn’t. Instead, she held her position with bated breath. Stiles’ fingers then moved a tendril of hair out of her face, so softly it was no more than a whisper itself. He skimmed her jawline with the pads of his fingertips, with as little pressure as possible, stopping by her chin.

“I know you’re awake, you know,” Stiles whispered. Mercy gave a small sigh, whether at his movements or because she had been found out, Mercy, would never be sure. She opened her eyes to look at him.

“I was waiting to see what you’d do,” she insisted, with a small shrug of the shoulders. Stiles gave a hum in response, placing another curl behind her ear. “This is weird, right?” Mercy asked him. Stiles stopped moving to look at her fully.

“You mean the fact that we are complete strangers, yet I feel like I’ve known you my entire life?” Stiles asked.

“Yeah, that,” Mercy’s response was rather high-pitched for her. Stiles chose not to comment, trying to keep his voice from doing the same thing. They both took solace in the fact that the other was just as nervous. Mercy chose to sit up, then, but made sure not to put any distance between them. She wasn’t pushing Stiles away, she just wanted to see his face better. There was also the whole light headed feeling due to their closeness, but Mercy chose to not acknowledge that part of it.

“Yeah, it’s pretty weird, but I’ve seen weirder.”

“Weirder than cuddling with a stranger in the basement of an insane asylum? What kind of life do you live, Stilinski?” Mercy tried to make a joke. She wasn’t used to this. Stiles didn’t laugh, but he gave a small smile in response.

“You’d be surprised, Jacobs. You’d be surprised.”

“I believe you. You’ve seen things. I can tell,” Stiles gave her a look that told her he was shocked. He quirked an eyebrow to which she just gave him a shrug in response. _“Stiles may have seen weird things, but I’m sure he has never met someone with supernatural empathic abilities. There’s no way to explain that one,”_ Mercy thought. “But this… Does this make any sense to you?” she asked, gesturing between them.

“I’m as confused by this as you are. It would figure, though, right? I meet you here and I’m not even sure if I’m awake half the time, because you seem too perfect to be real and as things are going so far, this is a pretty good dream. Especially compared to the others…” Stiles was rambling and his mood was starting to spiral. Mercy could tell he was really questioning his reality to an extent. He wasn’t kidding about those nightmares of his. He had placed his head in his hands, arms propped up by his knees, pulling a little at his hair. Mercy chose to move from her position and kneel in front of him, then. She gently removed his hands from their grip and moved her hands to his face.

“Look, Stiles. Will you look at me, please?” his golden eyes caught hers, unable to ignore the plea in her voice. “I have no idea what is going on between us and I’m not going to pretend that it makes sense, because it doesn’t, alright? But I know this…. whatever it is, it’s real. I’m real. You’re not dreaming, okay? Not this time.”

Stiles’ eyes roamed her face, knowing that even on a good day, he couldn’t have made her up. The Nogitsune in the back of his head was making him unsure of everything, but he was sure of this stranger. He was sure of Mercy Jacobs.

Mercy inched forward to press her lips to his, trying to prove her point, but before she made it that far, they were rudely interrupted by the sound of knocking. Well, it was more like scratching, like a dog at a door.

“Do you hear that?” Stiles asked. Mercy stood from where she had knelt on the floor, both of them momentarily forgetting about what they were about to do and remembering where they were. Mercy walked over to the backwards five etched onto the far wall, feeling the need to inspect it again.

“You know… It kind of seems like this was done by a set of claws,” Mercy mumbled, loud enough for Stiles to hear, as she ran her fingers over the etching on the wall once more. A light bulb went off and she suddenly had an idea. Curling her hand into a loose fist, she knocked on the rough wall. The noise echoed slightly, indicating that there was some space behind the wall. “It’s hollow,” Mercy exclaimed, not really expecting this new discovery. Stiles looked around the room, an eerie excitement rolling off him like a heavy fog. He picked up a thick pipe, weighing it in his hand. Mercy stepped away, understanding what he was going to do. Stiles walked over to the wall, positioning himself so that he could hit the wall with the pipe, like it were a bat he held and this was the most important game of his baseball career. He swung hard, a crack forming on the wall, a few pieces of concrete now chipped away. He glanced at Mercy, as if he were asking her to verify what he had seen. She gave a small nod of her head and Stiles swung again, this time large chunks of thin concrete falling in to the small space behind the wall. He started pushing chunks out of the way, Mercy walking over to help, now excited to find out what was behind it. A rank smell wafted up her nose making her cringe. Dust billowed out as the last piece of concrete collapsed. They coughed and stepped back a few feet, waiting for the cloud of dust and pulverized concrete to settle. Once the view was clear, Mercy gasped in shock. “Is- is that a corpse?” she asked, scared to know the answer.

“No. It’s the Nogitsune,” Stiles clarified. He reached in and grasped a picture held in the “nogitsune’s” hand, as well a katana scabbard stuck between the corpse’ arm and torso. It was an old picture, and judging by the clothes worn and the lack of color in the picture, she figured it was around the time of World War II.

“What?” She looked at him, confusion written in capital letters across her face.

“Quick,” Stiles walked up to her, eyes wild and afraid, raising his shirt over his head he tossed the scabbard on top of the couch and handed the old photograph to Mercy, who tucked it in her shirt’s box pocket. Mercy gulped at the sight of his bare stomach, but kept her face blank. “Could you do me a favor and look at the lines on my back?” Mercy nodded, as Stiles turned his back to her. There were blue and black lines running up and down along his spine, resembling lightning. They were very faint, nearly gone, and rapidly receding. Transfixed, Mercy traced her fingers over Stiles’ veins. He shuddered, and Mercy knew he was thoroughly enjoying the feeling, despite the circumstances, as she spotted goosebumps raise on his arms.

“They’re almost gone. I can see them disappearing. Your back will be bare in like three minutes, maybe less,” Mercy judged. She pulled Stiles’ shirt over his back again and smoothed the fabric over his shoulders. She withered on the inside as she felt his broad shoulders tense with the news she had given him. “What are they? The lines, I mean. And a nogitsune? What the hell is that? You didn’t tell me anything about a damn corpse in the wall, Stilinski,” Mercy fought to keep her voice under control, but it betrayed her, each syllable increasing in pitch. She felt Stiles’ arms wrap around her shoulders, in a comforting way. “I’m seriously beginning to question my sanity, here,” Mercy mumbled, shaking her head.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’ll explain everything,” Stiles said bringing his hands down to cup Mercy’s cheeks, stilling her movements. She looked back into his hazel irises, holding her breath as she fought to keep her heart rate under control.

“Start talking, Stilinski,” Mercy said, voice a little more level. He knew that she was being serious; Mercy was no longer in a jocular mood. She needed answers, and she needed them now. However, right as Stiles was opening his mouth, hopefully to explain their current situation, they were interrupted by slow clapping coming from the entrance to the basement they had used earlier.

“Well, well, well. What a show you’ve put on for us today,” Oliver said sarcastically, slowly walking towards the pair still standing by the hole in the wall, with its questionable contents lying inside. Mercy raised her eyebrows in confusion. She had noticed both the twitch of Oliver’s eye and his improper use of the word “us”; Oliver was alone, so who else could he be referring to?

“Ollie? How did you- Aggh!” Mercy started her question, but quicker than her eyes could register Oliver’s movements, he had whipped a taser from his back pocket, and pressed the electric device right below her ribs. Her eyes grew wide, and she barely registered her body hitting the floor, twitching rapidly.  Her ears were filling with a loud buzzing sound, mouth dry as the Sahara desert. The edges of her vision became hazy and unclear, the corners turning black. Her mind was blank, and only registered one thing; pain. White hot, blinding pain.

Stiles went to push Oliver down, a short, shocked, yell escaping his lips, but Oliver was ready for him. His arm shot out and grabbed Stiles by the back of his neck, applying a strong pressure, making Stiles tense and rigid. Oliver drove him to his knees and Stiles felt a sharp pain on his neck. His body convulsed on the floor, taser still held, crackling in Oliver’s hand.  

“You took Brunski’s keys. I took his stun gun,” Oliver explained, dragging Mercy’s small frame towards the chair with the leather straps that she had mentioned earlier. “I also stole his Haldol,” Oliver propped Mercy up on the seat, taking her shaking wrists and strapping them down to the arm rests. Her eyes were half lidded with exhaustion. He pressed a needle into her artery, letting two millimeters of Haldol course through her veins to knock her out. Her body stopped shaking, but Oliver had already finished with the leather straps. Stiles was panting now, trying to regain feeling in his body. He had stopped shaking for the most part, his fingers occasionally twitching. Oliver fiddled with an object around Mercy and the chair, smiling gleefully.

“As I was saying, Stiles, they used to do trepanation here,” Oliver turned the drill in his hand, observing the sharp point. Mercy had yet to completely knock out, she was panting hard, heart pounding making the sedative flow through her bloodstream faster, but her fear was controlling her now.

“Oliver, what are you doing?” Stiles managed to ask, voice weak and trembling. He tried to push himself up off of the floor, but he fell back onto his elbows.

Oliver looked straight at Stiles and, suddenly, he knew. He just knew that the boy standing before him, drill in hand, wasn’t wholly Oliver. He had been tampered with by the Nogitsune, and Stiles was certain that the demon still had a solid grasp on Oliver’s strings. “I’m going to let the evil spirits out,” Oliver confessed, face completely serious, maybe even with a hint of joy, but there was also a tinge of fear in his eyes. The drill whirred loudly in the room, as Stiles watched Mercy’s head loll to the side, the girl having lost the fight against the Haldol.

Stiles tried his hardest to get up and move closer to the girl, but the taser had weakened his already sleep deprived body even further. The mere effort it took trying to move made him blackout from exhaustion. He must have actually passed out because the next thing he knew, he was sitting in a chair across from the one that matched Mercy’s, their knees just a foot apart.

“I borrowed a few pointers from the five point restraint,” Oliver spoke up. Stiles, a bit disoriented due to his vision being blurred around the edges, was unsure of what the boy meant until he looked down and saw his wrists bound. He tried to pull against the constraints, but to no avail.

“Oliver, stop this,” Stiles pleaded. Oliver began to cough violently, covering his mouth. When he pulled his hand away after the fit, his hand contained blood and a fly. Not thinking any more of it, Oliver simply wiped his mouth with the back of the opposite hand and began to move the drill closer to Stiles’ temple.

“Oliver, listen to me. Stop! Oliver! Oliver! Stop!” he yelled, begging for his life as the power tool was mere inches away, despite Stiles uselessly trying to move as far out of it’s reach as possible.

Suddenly, the whirring of the machine stopped, making Stiles open his eyes to see what had changed Oliver’s mind. Oliver had changed directions and started to head towards Mercy’s chair, almost as if he was told to start with the girl. Stiles looked into the corner and saw the Nogitsune himself. The creature moved his bandaged head to face the restrained boy’s direction, acknowledging him with a nod of the head and a baring of teeth.

“You did this. You got into his head,” Stiles accused the demon.

“Every Dracula needs a Renfield,” the Nogitsune swiftly replies. Stiles turned his head in disgust to focus on Oliver again. The boy was beside Mercy’s body, tightening her constraints, though there was no need for him to do so, as the girl was out cold.

“Just let her go,” Stiles told his captor’s master.

“Let me in,” was the monster’s reply. Stiles began to thrash violently against his confines, desperate to be free, so that he could help the still unconscious female. He couldn’t let them hurt her. Oliver looked away from the very person he had deemed his friend not too long before, to notice Stiles’ struggling. “Stiles,” the Nogitsune coaxed. “Do you want her to leave here alive? Do you want us to leave? We can walk out of this place,” he bargained, as crafty as the Devil himself.

“Just let her go,” Stiles begged, voice cracking and tears in his eyes. “Please.”

He watched Oliver, giving up on his constant tugging against his constraints, knowing it was hopeless. Stiles was going to have to watch Mercy be tortured, or worse yet, murdered, and there was no way for him to stop it. This girl, with the piercing blue eyes that seemed to stare into his very soul. This girl, who he had only known existed for such a short period of time, yet felt inextricably bound to. Stiles didn’t know what it was about Mercy Jacobs that stirred something so deep within him, and now, he was never going to. He was going to lose her before he even had the chance to know her and that hurt Stiles on a level that he couldn’t even fathom. Stiles was more lost now than he had ever been. Eyes moist, he turned his head to follow the demon’s movements once more. He watched as the demon stood near the hole in the wall, looking in and observing its own corpse. Stiles began to struggle against his confines once more. He had to save her.

The Nogitsune moved closer to the floundering boy and suggested again for Stiles to let him in. He gnashed his black fangs, getting closer to the boy’s face. Stiles screamed in his frustration.

“Let me in, Stiles! Let me in!” the demon insisted, patience leaving with every word. Never before had a human resisted his possession as this human had.

“Just let her go, please!” Stiles yelled, hearing the whirring of the drill once more. His heart was near to bursting from the fear for Mercy’s life. Still the demon insisted that Stiles give him entrance, repeating the mantra. Tears trailing nonstop down his face, Stiles leaned back in the chair, trying to drown everything out. He just wouldn’t listen. There was nothing he could do.

“Let me in, Stiles, and I’ll let her live,” the Nogitsune persuaded, ignoring the slight muttering from his “Renfield” about “helping his friend get rid of the spirits”. Oliver was trying to justify his actions. Whilst the Nogitsune had control of Oliver, it was more of a strong persuasion. He just told his puppet what to do, but Oliver was losing conviction. Human bonds could be terribly annoying, but the demon fox knew it might just help him in the case of Stiles and the little empath. The demon could already tell Stiles was giving in to him. He could feel the walls being let down.

Stiles knew he had no choice. It was Mercy or himself. One more “Let me in,” and Stiles dropped the barrier. His body relaxed and the Nogitsune gave one more wicked grin.

“Oliver,” came a gruff voice, making Oliver release his hold on the drill’s trigger and look up to see a newly released Stiles, rubbing his chafed wrists. Oliver’s eyes widened, now a little more nervous. He watched warily as Stiles moved closer, giving him a nervous grin. The poor boy was looking for approval, but that approval never came. This new Stiles watched his puppet for a moment before snatching away the power tool and knocking Oliver upside the head with it. Stiles sighed at the crumpled up heap that was his minion, beginning to walk away with disinterest.

Mercy began to move then, waking from her induced slumber. She groggily watched as Stiles placed the drill on a nearby surface. “Stiles?” she questioned, confused as to what was happening. Stiles looked in her direction, giving this smirk that Mercy was sure would be ingrained into her memory for the rest of her life. She knew deep down that this was no longer the Stiles she knew. That Stiles was nowhere to be seen. This was something else entirely.

“Little empath,” he said, smirking a little more at her gasp over his choice of words, facing her a little more head on. “Stiles” tilted his head to the side, surveying her with a stare so cold that Mercy was sure she would never feel warm again. “I keep my promises, but, just know, I have more in store for you. You’ll be of use to me. We’re going to have fun, _I promise,”_ he chuckled, before turning away once more and walking out.

 

* * *

 

Mercy didn’t know how long she had been left in the musty basement of Eichen House. The girl was still hazy from her dose of Haldol, but that didn’t mean she was unable to recall the parting message Stiles had left her with before abandoning her. Mercy was utterly dumbfounded. Not only had she woken up to a _completely_ different Stiles than she had previously known, this new Stiles somehow knew that she was an Empath, and on top of that, he was out to get her. She didn’t know what had occurred while she was unconscious, but she knew it was bad. Deep down she knew, the Stiles that left her tied to a chair, that particular Stiles wasn’t the same amber-eyed individual she had found herself cuddling with earlier. Mercy felt it deep in her bones, empathic abilities aside. This new Stiles… he was just _wrong._

Mercy remained dumbfounded as she remembered Oliver’s actions. What had happened to him? What had happened to the sweet, yet strange boy that she had begun to consider a friend? That Oliver would never have done this to her. _“But neither would Angela or your parents, right, Merc?”_ she berated herself. Now here she was, abandoned by a boy she had barely known and, somehow, that small betrayal was the most pain-inducing of all of them. Despite knowing on a deeper level that something seriously sinister had transpired during her brief “nap”, it didn’t make it sting any less. Mercy struggled and pulled at her restraints in vain, tears washing her cheeks in frustration. She was still sore and tired from where Oliver had taken the stun gun to her side earlier. _“Oliver!”_ she thought. She looked around as best she could with her limited movement. Her blue eyes widened in momentary fear when she noticed he was still in the room with her, but that fear gave way to shock and confusion shortly thereafter when she took in his crumpled up heap of a position. _“The hell…? Did Stiles knock him out?”_ she wondered. Mercy acknowledged that she had one of two options lying before her. She could either struggle aimlessly and call for help, which would likely go unnoticed considering her location. She may be in “Echo House”, but who knew if that extended to the basement. Or there was the second option… Mercy could try to rouse her captor/betrayer in hopes that he wouldn’t murder her and perhaps even gain some insight as to what she had missed. Neither seemed too appealing at the moment. _“Brunski or Oliver? Never would I have thought the day would come that I would struggle with this decision. But… I have to find out what happened to Stiles, which pretty much means calling out for help isn’t the ideal option here. Well, here goes nothing. Maybe he won’t try to attack me this time…”_

“Oliver!” Mercy tried to yell, but due to her nerves and the hoarseness in her throat caused by the night’s events, she realized it was more of a strangled whisper than anything else. “Oliver!” she tried again, rattling her constraints for extra noise and effect, but she got nothing. Not even a twitch. “DAMN IT, OLIVER! WAKE UP, YOU BASTARD!” Mercy was incensed now, rage building up the longer she remained confined and thought about what had happened. Bucking against her bounds, rattling her chains, all of this described the ruckus Mercy was making, as she tried to get Oliver to awaken. At the rate she was going, someone was bound to hear her and she was beginning to question if the boy on the floor was even still breathing. A few more minutes passed before she heard a groan. _“How did I get myself in this mess?”_ she couldn’t help, but wonder. She questioned all of her life choices when Oliver started to stir from his place on the dusty concrete floor. Mercy struggled against her binds again, knowing it was useless. "Get up, Oliver! Christ!” Mercy ordered the boy. She heard him more than saw him rise slowly to a sitting position, clutching his head. There was a large welt forming on his right temple. When he looked at her, she watched as his eyes widened as he took in the sight of Mercy’s entanglement. Mercy had a look of disgust that swiftly was replaced by the sickest of grins that she could manage, giving the Joker himself a run for his money. “Hiya, buddy. How’s the head wound? Manage to attack anyone lately?” she questioned, trying to keep a cool demeanor, but her voice rose in pitch as she began to lose a grip on her forced calm. “Oh, right,” she said, sharply, rage seeping out of her and becoming difficult to contain. She made sure to rattle her confines once more for emphasis. Mercy felt various waves of emotion taint her tongue. Fear, confusion, guilt… Oliver felt all of these so intensely, but Mercy knew she couldn’t let that overwhelm her or stop her. She needed answers and he was the only one that could provide her with them, so no matter what she felt towards Oliver, those feelings could not become a hindrance to that.

"Wha- What are you talking about?”  he responded. Mercy only continued to push and pull against the leather straps. “Mercy, I…” Oliver began. But to her Mercy, hearing his voice wobble was the equivalent of a dam bursting.

“THE FUCK, OLIVER?! WHY?! WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS?! I THOUGHT WE WERE FRIENDS?! I just… I don’t understand… Why would you do this to me?” Mercy’s voice began to break, tears flowing freely down her face again. She simply couldn’t believe this was happening.

Oliver’s eyes were also wet with unshed tears. He started to tremble and shake, crossing his arms to hug his middle and looking as though he was about three seconds away from adopting the fetal position.

“I didn’t mean it… I didn’t. I just wanted to release the evil spirits, honest. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Oliver was muttering, now rocking back and forth. His feelings were slamming into Mercy and it took everything she had to stay whole at this point. Mercy had to reassemble the broken boy long enough to get away from him or else she too was going to lose herself, much like he seemed to be doing. The onslaught of emotions made Mercy aware that Oliver was, indeed, very sorry and she, honestly, didn’t want to recreate the scenarios that had happened with Angela’s victims, the scenarios that she was scared she would grow accustomed to if she wasn’t careful. It had broken parts of her that she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to fix. To prevent that from happening, though, Oliver was going to have to release her.

“Oliver!” Mercy semi-yells, trying to get his attention. Oliver was still muttering apologies and rocking. Mercy knew she wasn’t going to get through to him while he was like this. There was only one thing to do. She laid her head back and closed her eyes, trying to push through the exhaustion and roar of emotions. She focused her energy on calming Oliver’s mind. It was more difficult as she still had remnants of Haldol in her system, making the power harder to reach, but she felt the standard tingling she had come to associate with her ability surge, and she knew she had hold of it. Mercy was gradually getting stronger. Pushing outwards with it, she felt as Oliver steadily became calmer, saw as his movements slowed and heard his muttering begin to cease. When he was silent once more, Mercy tried again. “Hey, Ollie,” she called, using her nickname for him because she knew it would earn a better response. The girl made sure to catch his gaze and send a miniscule smile his way, hoping it didn’t come off as forced as it seemed to her. “How about you come release me, huh, buddy? Please? It’s okay, everything is going to be okay now,” she said in a slow and calm manner, being direct, yet kind. She spoke as if she were speaking to a small child or a wary animal, as Oliver was very much both of those right now. She nearly sighed out loud in her relief when she watched him nod in response, beginning to push himself up off of the floor. “That’s it. You can do this, Ollie.”

Oliver came to undo the restraints that he had placed her in to begin with. Mercy tried to keep the anger and residual fear at bay, but she couldn’t forget the recent turn of events and it was too soon to even question if she ever would forget them. The boy’s hands were shaking as he hastened to set her free, starting with her ankle straps. Once her legs were free, he moved to her wrists. Moving slowly so as to not startle Oliver, she stood up from the chair, moving as far away from it as possible, rubbing her chafed wrists. She eyed Oliver warily, noting his fidgety behavior. He looked like the same Oliver she had come to call a friend and she still couldn’t understand what had happened.

“So, what exactly happened, Oliver?” Mercy questioned calmly, yet apprehensively.

“I… I, uh, was trying to free the “evil spirits”,”  Oliver stuttered out.

“NO!” Mercy shouted in her frustration, but when she saw Oliver shake his head and step back bumping into the chair that she had become fairly acquainted with, she decided to take a breath and go again. “No, I mean, what happened to you? What happened to Stiles? Why, Oliver?”

“Well, I, um…” Oliver said, scratching the side of his neck. “I swallowed a fly, so…”

Mercy interrupted the boy, hand held up preventing him from finishing his sentence. She was ready to throttle him.  

“Yes, and we don’t know why you swallowed the fly. Let me guess, you’re going to swallow a spider to catch the fly, am I right?”

“I actually coughed the fly up already, Mercy!” Oliver insisted. Mercy ran a hand over her face in exasperation.

“Are you fucking serious, right now?”

When Oliver nodded vigorously, excited that she was finally understanding his pleas, Mercy moved closer to him stopping a mere few inches from the boy’s face.

“Oliver, I’m not going to ask you, again, okay? So, tell me. What happened to Stiles?” she whispered, voice so deadly calm, it sent shivers down Oliver’s spine.

“Uh, he was taken. He no longer belongs to himself. The fly told me to do those things, Mercy. I swear.”

“Whoa. Rewind, kid. What do you mean “he no longer belongs to himself”? And a fly told you to do things? Oliver…” Mercy was about to pull her hair out by the roots at this point.

“I’m not kidding. The fly insisted this was the only way. The only way to free the…”

“Evil spirits. Right. I got that part,” Oliver smiled at Mercy’s acceptance and continued on with his spiel.

“So, when I was released, Stiles was taken. He no longer belongs to himself now,” Oliver nodded. Mercy was reminded of 5 year olds who would tell you stories that they had come up with on the fly.

“So, Stiles swallowed a fly too?” Mercy knew her headache wasn’t due to the Haldol by this point.

“No!” Oliver pouted, almost stamping a foot. “He opened the door. You’re not listening to me, Mercy!”

“That’s because I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Mercy said under her breath. She was about to question Oliver again when the inevitable happened. They were no longer alone.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here? A little bit of fraternization between the sexes, huh? You two, you never struck me as the kinky kind,” Brunski spoke up, stepping from the shadows. He had a sick smirk painted onto his lips and was rubbing his hands together, reminding Mercy of every cheesy movie villain in existence.

“Peachy keen. And fraternization? Really? That’s a pretty big word you got there, Brunski,” Mercy smarted off. In hindsight, probably not the smartest decision the girl had ever made, but she was beyond frustrated at this point and even with Oliver’s ridiculous explanation, she had a sick feeling he was right about what had happened to Stiles. Brunski’s smirk turned into a scowl of epic proportions.

“Looks like I have enough to throw you into solitary for two weeks, you little bitch. Want me to list them?” he sneered, as he invaded Mercy’s personal space, grabbing her upper arm in a vice-like grip.

“OW! Pretty sure there is no need to hold on that tight,” Mercy’s response only made the brute of a man squeeze that much harder, enough to make Mercy’s knees buckle. “Look, Brunski, you don’t understand…” she said through gritted teeth.

“Pretty sure I don’t care. Let’s go, Jacobs.”

“You should let go of her,” Oliver spoke up, stopping Brunski in his tracks. Humoring the boy, the orderly turned around.

“And why is that, hmm?” Brunski asked with a raised brow. Mercy’s fingers were grasping at the man’s, trying to get him to loosen the grip even slightly, but to no avail. She had no idea what Oliver was going to come up with at this point. _“Maybe he’s trying to make up for earlier. Well, good luck with that one, pal.”_

“Because he’s not going to like it,” Oliver said, tone so calm, it was nearly sinister. The boy moved his hand from behind his back once more to reveal the dreaded taser. It crackled in his palm and Mercy flinched. Brunski didn’t seem to be fazed, however. Without letting go of the girl, he moved his opposite arm and in an instant, Oliver crumpled once more. Mercy gasped. Her eyes hadn’t even registered the attack until seeing Oliver on the floor.

“Looks like “he” isn’t going to know any better is he?” Brunski had the nerve to laugh and Mercy had no idea how to take that in. She just stumbled as the man began to drag her out the door. Brunski only stopped long enough to bark at a lower orderly to go and retrieve Oliver and place him in solitary, once they were out of the basement.

As Mercy was being dragged rather harshly down the halls of Eichen House by an extra vicious Brunski, she did all she could to stop his advancements, and make him listen.

“Brunski, you have to listen to me! It’s not Oliver’s fault. It wasn’t him that tied me to that chair, he was possessed by this… this _thing._ Please, just stop and listen to me! STOP!” Mercy tried her best to explain the situation she had been found in, voice shaky. Tears pricked behind her eyes, as Brunski held on to her upper arm with immense strength. The orderly was much stronger than Mercy had remembered however, and no matter how many times she dug her heels into the filthy, white tile floor of Eichen House halls, he only needed to shake his grip on her arm a little, to make Mercy stumble and, yet again, be under the complete control of the sadistic monster.

“Shut up, Jacobs! There’s no such thing as ‘possession’. You really have lost it now, haven’t you?” he sneered, all the while still walking briskly towards the south wing, where the cells for solitary confinement were.

Mercy gave up trying to convince Brunski, knowing she wasn’t helping her case. Tears rolled down her cheeks as the growing fear of being thrown in solitary consumed her. At this point, she just wanted to do everything in her power to prevent being thrown back in there. She knew that no amount of get-out-of-jail-free cards would save her hide this time. Those dirty used-to-be-white walls with its urine scented corners, left with only her thoughts to entertain her, was the last place she wanted to be right now.

“Please! Just let me go! I didn’t do anything wrong. Don’t take me back there!” Mercy pleaded, doing her best to keep up with Brunski’s quick pace. She yanked her arm away from Brunski over and over again, until it felt like jelly, yet she still continued pulling, trying to wrench herself from his clutches. He only gripped harder, making the dark-haired girl cry out in pain. She was hyperventilating now, she dreaded solitary confinement more than anything else at this point. Brunski’s strong grip was doing nothing to ease her nerves. As she stumbled, yet again, next to the diseased Head Orderly, she realized that she was passing next to the visitor's lounge, the place where she had first seen Stiles. It seemed like years ago, when she had spotted the then harmless boy accompanied by his father. As she looked through the glass again, not really searching for anything, or anyone, her eyes fell upon the same man that had brought Stiles in. Eyebrows furrowed, she wondered if she were seeing things. The pain from her shoulder jolted Mercy back from her thoughts, confirming that yes, she was seeing that same man, now in a sheriff’s uniform, in the visitor’s lounge.

“HEY! HEY! YOU! Sheriff! Stiles' dad! Your son is in danger! He’s possessed! Please! Listen to me! He’s in danger!” Mercy screamed at the top of her lungs, voice straining to get past the lump in the back of her throat. Her voice cracked several times, but she hoped and wished with every fiber of her being that the Sheriff had heard her. She half expected the thick bulletproof glass to muffle her pleas completely, but to her surprise the Sheriff shot her a glance. She must have really seemed like one of the demented patients that found themselves trapped in this hell, being dragged like a rag doll by a brawny orderly, screaming at the top of their lungs. Red welts had formed on her wrists where the leather straps had rubbed her skin raw, bruises from Brunski’s rough treatment after the shower incident the night before still present. Mercy knew that if the roles had been reversed and she were on the other side of that glass, she wouldn’t have given her a second glance. Thankfully, the Sheriff, apparently, had other thoughts. His eyes widened as he realized, what it was that Mercy was rambling on about. Mercy decided that it was now or never, and she kicked Brunski’s leg as hard as she could. The man only stumbled a bit, facing the girl with a deep scowl forming on his less-than-perfect face, but never stopping his movements towards the south wing.

“Hey. You, nurse. I need to speak to that girl,” Sheriff Stilinski said pointing at Mercy, eyebrows moving closer, knowing that the girls defiant act was not going to go unpunished.

“I’m sorry, sir, but visiting hours are over. Come back tomorrow between 10 AM and 5 PM,” the nurse responded in a bored tone. She didn’t even glance up from her clipboard where she was scribbling down notes. Mercy kicked Brunski again, hoping to halt his movements towards the south wing. This time, the burly man stopped and turned towards the smaller adolescent.

“You’ll pay for that, bitch,” he spoke. He shoved Mercy, his hand on her throat, into wall opposite the visitor’s lounge window, making Mercy’s head snap back with his force. She was knew that when the back of her skull knocked against the plaster, there was sure to be a dent there.

“How about this? I am the Sheriff of this county, and unless I speak to that girl, and take her in for questioning, I will arrest you for obstruction of justice, and him for assaulting a minor,” Sheriff Stilinski said pulling out his badge and flashing it in the nurse’s face, not in the mood for any games. His gaze was trained on Brunski’s back, his stare so strong, it was a surprise the immense orderly hadn’t burst into flames. The nurse visibly blanched and stammered an affirmative response, quickly turning away to chase after Brunski and his victim.

“Brunski! Let her go, the Sheriff wants to take her in for questioning,” the nurse called out, now on the inside of the heavy door separating Eichen House halls from the visitors’ lounge. Brunski stiffened about to share a rather snarky response, but after seeing the Sheriff standing there, gun holster on his hip and badge clearly visible on his jacket, he faltered and let go of his death grip on Mercy. Mercy gasped, relieved at the loss of pressure from her upper arm and her throat, and raised her hands to the back of her head checking for any signs of blood. Thankfully, she was still in one piece. Then she gingerly touched her aching arm. _“There will definitely be bruises there in the morning…”_

Brunski shoved Mercy’s shoulder, moving her towards the visitors’ lounge. She stumbled forward, and cast a nasty look over her shoulder to the monstrous orderly. “Better watch it, Brunski. I might just snitch about your far from ideal behaviour as Head Orderly,” Mercy said, the icy, bitter tone dripping from her words. He only snorted in response, now keeping a tight grip on her shoulder. She winced at the pain, but kept moving. Once on the other side of the heavy metal door, she stood face to face with Sheriff Stilinski.

“What’s your name?” he asked the sickly-looking girl.

“Mercy Jacobs, sir,” she answered, voice orotund, despite Brunski’s ominous presence behind her. She blinked back the tears that had threatened to spill over just moments earlier.

“Well, Mercy, pack your things, I’m taking you in for questioning,” Sheriff Stilinski said with confidence. His gaze wasn’t directed at Mercy, however. He was staring Brunski in the face, almost as if he were challenging him to question his actions. Brunski only stared back, but he lowered his hands from Mercy’s shoulder. The girl shot past him and ran faster than she had ever run before, making a beeline to her bedroom. Thankfully Malia wasn’t there, so Mercy didn’t have to explain what she was doing. Mercy haphazardly threw all of her things into her tote bag. Her clothes, towels, toiletries, anything of value. But she left her books there. No point in bringing them with her, she had already read them. She hesitated before picking up the now immensely heavy bag, ready to leave the godforsaken place behind her. Without really thinking much about it, Mercy picked up her notepad from next to her stack of books and speedily wrote a note, handwriting sloppy, yet legible.

_Malia,_

_I’m leaving Eichen House. Something came up with Stiles, something bad. There was some weird monster thing in the basement. It possessed Oliver, and he almost killed Stiles and me. Then somehow it possessed Stiles. I’m still trying to figure it out. But I do know it wasn’t entirely human. There was a corpse in the basement, or something kind of like a corpse I don't know. But, I need you to mail the sword thing to the Sheriff‘s Station, I have a feeling we’re gonna need it. I think we’re gonna need it a lot. Send it to a “Sheriff Stilinski.” He’ll know what to do with it. Oliver might know a little more about this, but he’s probably in solitary right now. I know you don’t like me, or trust me, and I don’t exactly like you either, but I’m not crazy. You have to believe me. Be careful._

_Mercy_

_P.S. Feel free to keep the stuff I’m leaving behind._

Satisfied, Mercy dropped the note on Malia’s pillow as she headed out of the room, for the last time. Mercy could barely contain her glee, as she sped through the winding hallways towards freedom. Nevermind the fact that she would be leaving here, most likely in the back of the Sheriff’s squad car, at least she would be getting out. As she neared the visitors’ lounge, she couldn’t help, but feel slightly ecstatic, and skipped the last few steps though the metal doorway to the lounge. When she saw the Sheriff writing on a slip of paper, and Brunski arms crossed over his chest with an angry expression on his face, she knew something had happened. Probably getting some sort of ticket for misbehaviour. Or what ever the proper term was. Mercy didn’t care, she was just glad that she could spend her final moments in Eichen watching Brunski get busted.

The sheriff turned to Mercy as he handed the paper to the annoyed orderly. “Are you ready to go, Mercy?” he asked, slipping the notepad into his back pocket.

“Yes. I just wanna get out of the Devil’s vacation house. Let’s go,” she replied in a hurry to escape. She walked past him towards the front door. A wave of warm, humid air pushed her hair back as she opened the door. With a sigh of contentment, she walked briskly towards the front gates, the Sheriff following close behind. She heard him talking on the phone as they neared the police car, talking to some guy named “Scott.” Mercy stopped at the car, waiting for him, as he hung up the phone.

“Sorry, had to make a call,” he said. He neared the trunk of the car, and popped it open with his keys. “You can put your stuff here for now. We’re going to the station,” he said, not unkindly. Mercy grunted with the effort of lifting the bag, but managed to lightly toss it in without spilling the contents. Now, whether or not his trunk would be a mess by the time they got to the station, was another story. He closed the trunk and walked over to the driver’s side door. “You don’t mind sitting in the back do you? The front’s a mess,” he asked looking at Mercy over the car, opening the door.

“I don’t mind, Sheriff. Just, get me as far away from this place as fast as you can,” Mercy responded with a strained smile, then climbed in through the passenger side, and sat in the middle seat, so she could get a better view of Eichen House in the rearview mirror as they pulled away. She smiled glad to have finally escaped.

“So tell me, Mercy,” the Sheriff started, as he pulled to a halt at their first red light. “What happened to my son?” the officer turned in the driver’s seat, looking at Mercy through the metal grate.


	4. Revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello, my little ducklings! Yet again, we come to you bearing a gift; another chapter of Disturbing The Void! We wanna thank those who have been sending such wonderful messages and reviews, and we encourage you all to share this story with your fellow Teen Wolf Fans. We are going to be taking you on for a long, long ride with this story. We have actually been discussing making this the first installment of a multi-installment fic! How do you guys like the sound of that? We know we’re super excited about it! Just to let you guys know, this chapter and the next one coming next week, are not part of canon. We felt we needed to give Mercy more time to get acclimated to the world of the supernatural, and we also wanted to give her a chance to get to know the characters. Also, just a heads up, we will be letting Allison die, once the time comes, since we do try to follow canon as closely as possible, to keep the plot moving along, and to prevent any confusion. Let us tell you, the easiest way to get writers block is let yourself roam free into the uncharted waters of fanon. We do regret Jeff killing off Allison like that, but don’t fret! We have a surprise for you, once we hit that part of the timeline. Trust us, its something you guys have all wanted from Jeff, but he neglected to provide. Can any of you guess? Anyways, don't forget to leave reviews to this chapter. Let us know what you think: what you like, didn’t like, suggestions, anything! Hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: Again, we, sadly, don’t own Teen Wolf or its characters. Only Mercy and her influence on the TW-verse. 
> 
> Warning(s): Language (due to Mercy being a bit of a potty mouth. Sorry, we can’t control her.)

“So tell me, Mercy,” the Sheriff started, as he pulled to a halt at their first red light. “What happened to my son?” the officer turned in the driver’s seat, looking at Mercy through the metal grate.

* * *

 

There was a long pause as Mercy thought of the best way to explain what she had seen, without seeming like a complete lunatic, which considering her previous address, was probably exactly what he was expecting. It struck her just how absurd this was going to seem. _“There is no way he’s going to believe me. As soon as he hears my story, he’s gonna throw me right back to perdition.”_

  
“Umm… It’s hard to explain. You’re not going to believe me, but I swear I’m telling the truth,” she started.

  
“Trust me, no matter how crazy the story is, I’ll believe you,” he sighed.

  
“Something tells me you know much _much_ more than what you’re letting on, Sheriff,” Mercy commented. The Sheriff only looked at her, and she could see the cogs turning behind his eyes; she could see them sputter and falter as he came up short of a good excuse for that comment. He exhaled as he turned around, now facing the road again.

  
“How about I make a deal with you, Sheriff,” Mercy stated, as the car lurched forward once again, the traffic light turning green.

  
“I’m not sure you’re in a position to be making negotiations, Ms. Jacobs, but alright, I’ll humor you.”

  
“If you can guarantee that I will _never_ have to walk the halls of Eichen House, or any other psychiatric facility, ever again, I’ll tell you everything, from the moment I met Stiles, to the moment he escaped,” Mercy said cooly. She knew she did not, under any circumstances, have the upper hand in this situation, but if her time in Eichen House had taught her anything, it was to watch her back, and ensure her safety at all times, present and future. There was no way Mercy would be returning to those cursed halls, in this life, or the next, not if she could help it. The Sheriff kept silent, mulling over her proposal.

  
“How about we get to the station, before we proceed with any negotiations?” he replied.

“Fair enough, sir.”

Ten minutes later, the Sheriff pulled into the parking lot of the police station, where a group of teenagers were standing not far from the entrance to the building. One of them looked up from their conversation as the police cruiser rolled to a stop in the Sheriff’s parking space. The tan boy made his way over to the vehicle, where the Sheriff was opening the back door of the cruiser, allowing Mercy to step out.

“What happened?” were the first words that came out of his mouth. He was staring directly at the Sheriff, only sparing a fleeting glance in Mercy’s direction. She didn’t mind much, actually preferring that no one pay too much attention to her. She was probably a mess, and it was clearly evident that she had just been taken out of custody of a mental health facility. At least, she felt it was evident, going as far as moving a hand to her hair, trying to discreetly smooth down her wild curls. The group’s perusal of her being gave off vibes of curiosity for the most part, but a few of them emitted similar blocks and walls that she experienced with Malia and that Meredith girl, which Mercy thought strange.

“I dont know, yet. I was going to question her inside the interrogation room, so if you don’t mind,” the Sheriff replied. Scott stepped sideways, now looking at Mercy, letting them pass by. The group of, what Mercy could only assume to be the tan boy’s friends, looked at the Sheriff hopefully. He only shook his head, and walked past them into the station. The Sheriff motioned for Mercy to follow him behind the counter and led the way, towards a window-blinded room. The group of teenagers followed the pair behind the counter of the police station. It seemed to Mercy that the deputies were used to seeing so many teenagers follow the Sheriff inside. It struck her as odd, but she didn’t get a chance to say anything about it, as she was ushered rather quickly into the interrogation room. The Sheriff walked in alone with only Mercy to accompany him this time, the group of adolescents waiting outside the door. Mercy had seen enough cop shows to know that they would hear every word of her story, and the idea that these kids might know Stiles made itself known in her mind, bouncing around in the back of her skull.

“Alright, Mercy. It’s a deal. You tell me everything, and I mean _everything_ , from the smallest detail, even if you think it’s unimportant, and I can guarantee that you will never be held in a psychiatric hospital ever again,” the Sheriff started. Mercy nodded, satisfied and rather surprised that her bargaining chip had worked, until she noted some guilt was seeping out of the older man, which she couldn’t quite fathom the origins from whence it came.

“Thanks, Sheriff. I guess… I guess, I’ll just start from the very beginning. I first saw Stiles the day you dropped him off in the visitors’ lounge, yesterday evening. I saw you both through the window. Not five minutes later, one of the older, more… deranged, patients took his life, which after witnessing, well… I didn’t react well to it, of course, and I tripped as I was trying to get away from that place. Then Stiles tried to help me up, but, needless to say, I wasn’t in a very welcoming mood after that...” Mercy cringed, remembering the sight of the poor man’s corpse, then realizing she was rambling, she rushed on to explain the point of telling the Sheriff about the travesty that had occurred prior to her meeting his son. “Phone lines are down for 24 hours after a suicide, so this morning when I met him, officially this time, he had been trying to reach you. Then my roommate, Malia, came up to us, and punched him in the face. Don’t ask me why. But judging by that, clearly, those two have history. Then, later on, we had a group session and we’d been talking about guilt. Ms. Morrell, the facility’s therapist, took him aside,” Mercy paused, debating whether she should mention the shower incident, and decided against it. She was unsure of how much she should divulge to her one-man audience when it came to any of the more intimate moments she had shared with Stiles, who was, evidently, missing. Why else would the Sheriff have been at Eichen House tonight? There was no such thing as pure coincidence, and the Sheriff taking her in for questioning, on the _same_ night that Stiles had been “possessed” was clearly much more than mere chance. Mercy realized there had to be more to this than just Stiles’ disappearance; why else would the Sheriff be concerned with learning everything she knew? How in the hell Stiles’ had managed to escape Eichen without outside help was beyond Mercy, but that was most likely the reason Mercy was even in this sticky situation. There was so much more to this than anyone was letting on, and Mercy _needed_ to know exactly what was going on. She finally realized that she had been inwardly ranting to herself for a long period, when the Sheriff awkwardly coughed, bringing her out of her thoughts.

“When I didn’t see him at dinner this evening, I went looking for him,” Mercy continued, never missing beat. “I had known Stiles for a short period, but we became fast friends, so I was concerned, naturally. Plus, Oliver was acting rather weird…” Mercy was still rambling, but she carried on when she noticed how attentive his stare was as it rested on her face.

 _“This is hella awkward. No wonder criminals usually get caught during their confessions; This is nerve-wracking!”_ Mercy couldn’t help, but think. “Anyways, I found him in the “Quiet Room”, which is basically Brunski’s favorite place to throw the patients he dopes up with Haldol. When I found him, he seemed to be having a nightmare, so, I woke him up. I knew that he had been trying to get into the basement since, oh, I don’t know, around the time Malia punched him this morning. I had devised a plan with Malia, prior to waking him up, which was how I had even managed to get inside the QR. I guilt tripped her into stealing Brunski’s keys, yet again; Oliver had told me after dinner that she was the one who had, though indirectly, gotten him thrown into the Quiet Room in the first place,” Mercy added, then paused noticing the Sheriff’s confused expression.

“Oh, uh, Oliver is one of my friends in there. Well, actually, he’s my only friend in there. Or he used to be. I don’t know. It all seems rather messed up, but I’m recounting it to you to the best of my abilities. Anyways, after waking Stiles up, I took him to the basement, through the closed unit, because admittedly, I was curious, by using Brunski’s keys. Now, pay attention, cause this is where it gets weird. After a while, we found a backwards, like, number five? It was clawed into one of the walls, and, so, Stiles had the brilliant idea of using a pipe to break down the wall. There was a… a freaking _corpse_ in there, which didn’t seem to surprise Stiles at all,” Mercy explained dropping her voice to whisper for the latter part. The Sheriff only nodded for her to continue.

“So, he told me to check his back and there were these lines all along his spine. They looked like lightning strikes and they were fading _super_ fast. And he mentioned something about a... a Nogitsumo? No, that’s not it… A Nogit-something or other, and all of a sudden, Oliver was right behind me. He tased me, then Stiles, then he strapped me to a chair with leather binds. I have no idea what made him do this, because while the kid is a little wacky, this was completely out of character. He injected me with Haldol, but it wasn’t enough to knock me out right away. I think I saw him talking to Stiles and I remember he had mentioned something about trepanation, but I must have passed out then, because I recall nothing after that. When I woke up, I assume not too long after, Stiles was just putting down a power drill. He seemed… different. Like a completely different person. And then, he just… left.” Mercy concluded, still trying to make sense of what she had seen. She inwardly acknowledged the fact that the Sheriff could renege on this deal of theirs anytime, due to her sounding like an absolute lunatic. Mercy was struggling to believe the words coming out of her own mouth, at this rate.

“And, when Oliver woke up, I confronted him, and he was talking about _possession_ , and swallowing a fly, and letting evil spirits out, and it doesn’t make any sense, right? But, the more I thought about it, Oliver _had_ seemed like a totally different person, like I said. He tased me, bound me to a chair, and doped me up. I mean, Oliver is not like that, _at all._ He’s not criminally insane, he’s just really weird and his family had no idea what to do with him, and that’s why they stuck him in Eichen House. He would _never_ try to kill anyone,” Mercy found herself defending the boy, the very one that had tried to kill her. She sighed, conflicted, and dropped her head into her hands. She propped her elbows on the table, and shook her head, distraught. The Sheriff, stared blankly at the wall behind Mercy for a moment, then, sighing, leaned back in his chair opposite Mercy. Mercy looked up at the officer, hoping he might be able to make sense of what she saw.

“Then, I’m assuming, after all this happened, the Head Orderly found you both, and that’s when I saw you, screaming about my son,” the Sheriff said. Mercy nodded affirmatively. “I’m going to bring in a few,” the Sheriff paused, searching for an appropriate term, “experts in this matter, and hopefully they can help us make sense of this,” the Sheriff stood up from his chair and left the room, clearly distraught. Mercy caught glimpses of the group of teenagers waiting outside, talking amongst themselves. Something was clearly off about this town, and Mercy needed answers; ASAP.

A few minutes later, the Sheriff returned with the tan boy from before, and a dark-haired girl with combat boots. She was slightly intimidating, but the boy seemed unsure of himself. Like a lost puppy. Mercy raised her eyebrows in question.

“These are your experts?” Mercy asked the Sheriff, eyeing the two teens. “No, offense, but we’re, like, the same age,” she added, hands gesturing between her and them.

“None taken,” the boy replied, smiling with a jawline that was a little uneven.

“My name is Allison. This is Scott,” the girl stated, motioning to the dog-jawed boy. “And, what the Sheriff meant by, ahem, “experts”, was really more like “experienced”. With strange things. Weird things. Things that only happen in fairytales. Or nightmares,” the girl took a seat across from Mercy. “Things that happen quite a lot in Beacon Hills,” Mercy would have laughed, if it weren’t for Allison's dead serious expression. Mercy raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

“Alright, I knew it was a little weird, what happened to me, but you can’t, actually, be serious,” she scoffed.

“We wish we could say otherwise, but, no. We’re not kidding. Welcome to the world of the Supernatural,” the boy said in a droll manner.

 _“Just my luck…”_ “Alright... So, what you’re telling me right now is that the Supernatural is a thing? Or you’re saying, _Supernatural_ is a thing. Both are a little far-fetched, but I’d prefer to have Sam and Dean exist if we’re making shit up,” when Mercy got no reaction to her pop culture reference, she scoffed. “Seriously?! You guys don’t know _Supernatural_? What do you use as a frame of reference?”

“Umm, real life, usually; It works pretty well,” Allison said, with an almost prim air, but she managed to do it in a nonchalant manner that Mercy had to admire.

“Well, I guess you don’t really have the time, huh? Slaying the Supernatural must be exhausting,” Mercy smirked, though she was sure it resembled more of a grimace than anything else, as she tried to stifle her rising panic, worriedly running her fingers through her unruly hair. She was speaking in jest, but internally, she was freaking out quite a bit. After having just escaped a warehouse of crazies, she wasn’t really in the mood to deal with this. Speaking of moods, she still couldn’t get a read from Scott and it was frustrating her. She vaguely heard Scott respond with a “You have no idea” sort of response before she stopped her irrational thinking to take in her cause for frustration.

 _“You can feel other people’s emotions and make them see shit that’s not there, Mercy. Seriously, after all the weird shit you can do, you question that there may be even weirder shit out there? That makes so much sense, dumbass,”_ she ranted internally. Mercy’s eyes widened as she came to her conclusion and looked deeply at the three people in the room with her. They stayed quiet, letting her sort it out for herself. Eyes landing on the pretty brunette in front of her, Mercy took in Allison’s small, yet reassuring smile. She could feel the calm that usually accompanied honesty radiate from this girl, letting it wash over her own tired body. Something about Allison just made Mercy want to trust her, trust them, even in something as insane as the idea that the Supernatural exists. It seemed crazy. Though, admittedly, she was the only one in the room that had escaped an insane asylum recently, so who knows what “crazy” really meant.

“Alright. So, the supernatural exists,” Mercy voiced, not so much as to break the silence, but more to solidify her conclusion out loud. “Now, what?” she said, looking up at Allison, who gave another small nod, which was rather comforting if Mercy were being honest with herself.

“Well, before we do anything, I need to, formally, get you out of Eichen. So stay put in here, for now. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Sheriff Stilinski said, leaving the interrogation room. Mercy watched as the Sheriff shut the door behind him, then let her gaze move over to the two ghostbusters in front of her.

“So… You guys, like, actually _legitimately_ fight against supernatural creatures? Like ghosts, vampires, werewolves?”

“Umm, not so much ghosts and vampires, but yes to the werewolves, and… other stuff,” Scott replied, sparing a sidelong glance to Allison.

“Mostly, the other stuff,” Allison mumbled, returning Scott’s look. Mercy noticed the exchange, but chose not to comment. She had a billion questions because, despite her newfound belief that the Supernatural was a thing, she was still borderline unsure. Maybe her abilities were, like, a fluke. This kind of thing only happened on tv, after all.

“So, how was he?” Scott asked, suddenly, breaking the new silence that had settled.

“What?” Mercy questioned the boy.

“Stiles. How… How was he, like, was he okay? Before the basement ordeal?” Mercy watched Scott for a minute, noticing the slight waver in the boy’s speech. She noticed how the boy knew everything that she had said in the interrogation room, but chose not to comment on that. THe walls were probaby paper thin anyways. She could tell that Scott deeply cared for Stiles, not needing “the Supernatural” to figure that out.

“He was…” Mercy realized she had no idea what to tell him. The girl looked to the brunette, for what reason, she didn’t know, but she was at a complete loss.

“Scott,” Allison took pity on the girl. Trying to help her out, she spoke softly, almost lovingly to the boy. “Mercy didn’t have a lot of time with him…”

Scott nodded, after taking a second to absorb Allison’s words, and Mercy wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Part of her was relieved that Allison knew that Mercy couldn’t possibly have known how Stiles had been before and after their short time together, but, the fact of the matter was that, Mercy did know, at least part of it. He may not have told her explicitly how he had felt, but she had felt and understood Stiles’ on a level neither of them could fathom. She wanted desperately to reassure Scott, but at the same time she didn’t want to expose their intimate moments and diminish them, or make them no longer valid. Those moments were what had made Mercy close to Stiles, and they were incredibly private, but alas, her better judgement won the struggle within her, and knew she had to tell Scott at least something, anything. For the sake of both him and her.

“He was tired,” she decided. “Tired, stressed, and anxious. But, he was strong. He told me he was there to protect you guys and he expressed how important that was to him. Which is how I know he was strong; because only a strong person would willingly go in there for someone else. He seemed… He seemed himself, right up until the end, when… when he wasn’t quite himself anymore,” Mercy stated, feeling the truth in her own words. It was the best she could give him, this boy who she did not know, but she knew Scott was near the top of the list when it came to the reasons why Stiles was in Eichen. Scott watched Mercy for another moment before letting the bomb of a question he had wanted to ask since she had exited the Sheriff’s cruiser earlier, explode.

“What are you?”

“Um, excuse me?” Mercy asked, perplexed.

“Look, I’m sorry, I wasn’t going to say anything, but… You’re something. I can smell it,” Scott remarked, gaze wandering as if he was going to find the answer somewhere on her person.

“You can what?!” Mercy stood up from her chair and took a step back, placing herself with her back closer to the wall. Watching the two warily, Mercy was once more at a loss.  _“How in the hell did I manage to find crazier people than who resided in Eichen?”_ she thought to herself. “What do you mean you can “smell” me? What are you?” she asked, her heart beat quickening, yet still holding a strong eye-to-eye connection with Scott.

“Scott…” Allison said warningly, also rising from her chair, hands in a gesture of peaceful defense. Mercy wasn’t sure who that was meant to reassure; herself or Scott.

“I can smell it, Allison. Something’s off. She’s human, but something isn’t right.”

“Mercy, is there something you need to tell us?” Allison questioned the girl.

“You mean something other than the fact that I was the one who resided in the loony bin, yet I am the only one who seems remotely sane right now? Because other than that, I have nothing. Sorry,” Mercy’s heart beat was pounding and Scott could tell she was hiding something. Allison took note of his questioning glance and nodded in confirmation. They had to explain why they knew so much about the Supernatural because, otherwise, the girl in front of them was going to shut down completely.

“Okay, Mercy, I’m going to need you to listen to me, okay? What Scott means by “smelling you” is just that. He can smell you. He has heightened senses. He can also hear your heartbeat right now which is telling him whether or not you’re lying, or in this case, that you’re not telling us everything,” Allison explained.

“What does that mean, exactly? I’ve told you everything I know,” Mercy takes her eyes off the brunette to look at the wary-eyed boy. “What _are_ you?”

“Show her, Scott. She’s not going to fully believe us, otherwise.”

Mercy watched as the boy nodded again to what Allison was saying. In the back of her mind, she couldn’t help, but wonder at the connection between the two teens. At the forefront, she couldn’t help, but wonder at the weirdness of the entire situation. She really needed a nap, because she was feeling beyond insane. Her world was being turned entirely upside down and she had a feeling this was just the beginning. So, Mercy continued to watch Scott, giving him her full attention.

“I’m going to need for you to not freak out, Mercy,” Scott asked of her. Mercy nodded, inwardly remembering to make no promises. Scott finds the two cameras in the corners of the room and, making sure he puts his back to them, placed his hands on Mercy’s arms to maneuver her in front of him, to which she tried not to flinch in the process. The bruises Brunski had left her with, were intensely tender. He lets go of her and takes a step back from the girl. Mercy anxiously clasped her hands together waiting for the “revelation” that was sure to come her way. Her eyes gazed just over Scott’s shoulder searching for Allison. Finding the girl’s eyes and another nod of reassurance, she waits expectantly. When Scott’s brown eyes turned a vivid shade of red, his teeth growing into fangs, and nails sharpening into claws, Mercy let out a gasp and stumbled back a step. Then as quickly as the change had altered Scott’s appearance, it started receding, slowly returning Scott’s features to the normal boy Mercy had recently become acquainted with.

“O… Okay, _I_ repeat; What are you?” Mercy stutters, all thoughts of disbelief pretty much shattered.

“I’m a werewolf, Mercy. Now, I repeat; What are you?” Scott growled, voice animalistic, crossing his arms across his muscular chest. Soon thereafter, he finally returned to normal, or at least human looking.

“Uh… All I know is what I’ve read on the internet and you know what they say about the internet…” Mercy gave a nervous chuckle, rubbing at her arms.

“What did you read?” Allison asked the girl, moving around the table situated in the middle of the room. Honestly, Allison couldn’t have been more impressed at Mercy’s calm reaction to Scott’s shift. Mercy felt that radiate from the girl and had to wonder at Allison’s first reaction, because why else would the girl be impressed?

“Something about being an empath, maybe?”

“What does that mean?” the boy questioned with a raised brow.

“I can feel emotions. Like, any emotion. For example, I know that Allison is impressed with me, right now,” Mercy shrugged, when Allison’s eyes widened. Scott looked at Allison in question to which she gave a slow nod.

“I was just thinking how her reaction was better than most people’s would’ve been,” Allison told him.

“So, you can read minds?”

“Um, no. Just emotions. I can read them, feel them, experience them. Sometimes, manipulate them, but that requires a lot of focus. I don’t really understand it myself, so I get your confusion,” she nods, sagely, in answer to Scott’s unasked question of if she can “read” him. “Yes, I can feel your emotions, but only barely. I feel Allison’s more than yours, which is weird.”

“Maybe it’s because he’s a wolf…” Allison suggests. Mercy just shrugged because she doesn’t know much more than they do and it seems logical to her. The most “blocks” she had ever faced had occurred in Beacon Hills, so she wouldn’t know, otherwise.

“That’s how you knew how Stiles felt. Not because he told you, but because you “felt” his emotions.”  
It wasn’t a question, but Mercy confirmed Scott’s theory with an affirmative nod, anyways. Scott lets out a breath, taking it all in. He was going to have to take her to see Deaton. Who knew what the girl could actually do and Scott had a feeling they were going to need to find out, asap.

“Mercy. I’ve filled out your release form for Eichen. They’ve already been placed into the outbox,” Sheriff Stilinski said, sticking his head through the doorway, breaking the spell that had settled between the three teenagers after the big reveal. He motioned for Mercy to follow him back to his office, Mercy grateful that she could escape the awkward tension of the room. Once situated inside, he picked up where he had left off. “I need to call your parents, so they ca-”

“No! Under no circumstances will I be going back to them,” Mercy stated forcefully. There was disdain in her voice, and if anyone outside the confines of the Sheriff's office had heard her, they knew there was no way she would be backing down from her statement.

“Are you sure?” the Sheriff questioned.

“Absolutely,” Mercy answered.

“Then… I guess you’ll be staying with me, in the meantime. But I still need to let them know.”

“Go ahead, call them, let them know I’m out of that godforsaken place, and I won’t be seeing them,” Mercy said in a petulant manner, crossing her arms across her chest. The Sheriff only nodded and picked up the landline phone. He punched in the numbers, using Mercy’s records on his computer screen as a reference. He lifted the mouthpiece to his head as he eyed Mercy, as if making sure she was steadfast in her decision. Her stare never wavered.

“As a matter of fact, tell them I'm under witness protection, and I can’t return home or something. Then, pass me the phone, I would like to share a message with them. Personally,” Mercy stated, voice steady and strong.

The Jacobs picked up on the third ring, recognizing the caller ID as the Beacon Hills Sheriff Station.

“Holly Jacobs speaking, how may I help you?” she greeted.

“Uh, hello, Mrs. Jacobs. This is Sheriff Stilinski of the Beacon Hills’ County Sheriff Department. I am calling in regards to your daughter, Mercy,” the Sheriff responded, noticing Mercy’s cringe at the utterance of the word “daughter”.

“Is something wrong? Is my daughter okay? Honey, come here! The Sheriff’s station is calling about Mercy!” Mrs. Jacobs called out to her husband. “Please, tell me if my daughter is okay,” she told Sheriff Stilinski, fear and panic evident in her voice.

“Your daughter is fine, Mrs. Jacobs. I have released her from Eichen House, as she proved a valuable eye witness for a, uh, missing persons’ investigation. Um, the investigation is ongoing, but Mercy will be staying with me, under witness protection. I only need you to contact the Eichen House administration office, and confirm her release. But for her safety, I must ask you to say that she has arrived safely at your home,” the Sheriff spun the web of lies Mercy had fed him.

“Witness protection? Oh my, I do hope everything is okay. Phillip, she’s in witness protection. We won’t be able to see her,” Holly paused as she spoke to her husband on the other side of the line. “Yes, of course she’s safe. She going to be with the Sheriff,” she responded to her husband's unheard question.

“Uh, Mercy is here with me, and she would like to speak to you,” the Sheriff commented, feeling awkward as he listened in on the couple's’ conversation.

“Please! Please, let me speak to my daughter,” Mrs. Jacobs begged. The Sheriff handed Mercy the large phone, and left the office claiming he wanted to give her some privacy. Mercy held the phone to her ear, but waited until he was gone before speaking.

“Hello,” she said.

“Mercy! Oh my goodness, I'm so glad to hear your voice. Tell me what happened. I was told you’re in witness protection! Darling, we’ve been worried sick, we never should have taken you to that place. I’m so sor-”

“DON’T you _dare_ apologize for what you did to me, mother!” Mercy screamed, anger finally getting the best of her as she spit out the last word with disgust evident in her voice. “I don’t care how many times you say you’re “sorry”. No amount of “sorry’s” will ever make me forgive you for what you did. You left me there to rot amidst crazy patients, some of whom were _criminally INSANE_!” she ranted. She didn’t even give her adoptive parents a chance to speak. “I don’t give a rat’s ass what you say, you both stopped being my parents the moment you left me in that hell hole. So, this is me telling you _both_ that I hereby relieve you of your duties, and don’t bother attempting to communicate with me. You're both dead to me,” Mercy said, tears welling in her eyes. She knew she probably should have hung up right then and there for emphasis, but some small part of her wanted to know what her words would do to the people to raised her, the ones that were supposed to love and protect her from everything evil in this world.

“Oh, Mercy… Baby, we are sorry. But we understand that you’re upset right now. I just…. I hope you know that we will always love you, and we will give you the space that you need, but please, baby, if you can find the room in your heart to forgive us, we will be waiting here with open arms. Never forget that. We lov-” Mercy slammed the phone down, tears spilling over. Angry tears, sad tears, frustrated tears. One after the other they cascaded down her cheeks, but nothing more than a whimper escaped her lips. Then, hearing the door to the Sheriff's office open, she swiped at her face, trying to erase the fact that she had been crying, no matter how hard she had fought against it. Still her skin remained red and blotchy, eyes puffy and still watering. She felt a hand lightly squeeze her shoulder in reassurance. She looked up to see the Sheriff’s warm blue eyes and sympathetic smile.

“Are you ready to go home now?” he asked softly. _Home._ What a strange concept. For years, she thought her home was with the Jacobs. Then it became Eichen House, for the time being. Now, she was going to be living with the Sheriff of a strange county, but she wasn't sure if she would call it _home_. It hit Mercy then, than she didn’t really have a home. She was home-less, but with a roof over her head. Oh, the irony.

Mercy stood up from her seat in the Sheriff’s office as an answer to her new “guardian”. As they exited the police station, she noticed the group of teenagers pooling into their own cars, and one motorcycle, as well. It suddenly struck her that they probably had school the next day. One of the girls, the redhead, must have had the same thought, because soon enough she was jogging to meet with the Sheriff halfway to his car.

“Sheriff!” she called out. Mercy noticed Allison following behind her friend. Mercy could sense her confusion, mimicking her own.

“Sheriff. I just thought of something. Since you have work and all, what if Mercy here, was enrolled at Beacon High?” she said, sparing a smile Mercy’s way.

“Uhh…” the Sheriff tilted his head considering it.

“It makes sense, right? I mean, you’ll be busy at work, and stuff, and we can protect her if anything arises,” she said. Then, as if realizing what she said, she turned to Mercy. “Not that anything will, it just… well, it doesn’t hurt to play it safe.”

“I’m okay with that, if you are, Mercy?” the Sheriff interjected, looking at the ex-patient.

“Uhm. Okay, I guess. Frankly, I’m sure I would’ve gotten bored really quickly if I had just stayed at your house the whole day, anyways. But uh… I don’t have too many clothes,” she said, picking at the hole in her shirt.

“Oh, well. We can go clothes shopping tomorrow, then enroll you at the high school. Sound better?”

“You don’t have to do that. If you call Holly, she would be more than willing to send my clothes over in a box,” she said. It didn’t go unnoticed by Sheriff Stilinski how Mercy used her mother’s first name, avoiding any use of vocabulary that would allow familial relations.

“Don’t be silly! We look around the same size. I can lend you some clothes in the meantime. I can bring some of my stuff over to your place, Sheriff,” the redhead said, giving an award-winning smile to the older man, with the smallest tilt of the head.

“Thank you, Lydia. Then, we can do that, and you’ll have at least a couple outfits until Holly can send us the box,” the Sheriff reasoned, after seeing Mercy’s nod of approval. Mercy thanked Lydia, before the group parted ways. She waved a final goodbye over her shoulder to Allison, who had hesitated before entering her car with Lydia, sparing a last glimpse at Mercy. Then, feeling slightly reassured, Allison climbed into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition. Mercy could tell that would be one tough chick to get to trust her, but despite that, Mercy trusted Allison, which again was weird. First, Stiles, now, Allison? So much for being careful when it came to trusting people. But could Mercy blame herself? Something about Allison’s demeanor, and how she carried herself gave Mercy the impression that she was trustworthy. Mery couldn’t quite place her finger on it, but her inner Empath knew this girl was worth putting her trust in.

With both him and his new dependant now in his car, the Sheriff stuck the key in the ignition and turned, bringing the car to life.

“So, I guess, the front wasn’t all that dirty, huh?” Mercy questioned Stilinski, as she sat beside him in the front seat.

“Uh-,” the Sheriff began to explain.

“It’s cool, I get it, Sheriff. I’m just messing with you. I would’ve made a resident of Eichen sit in the back too,” the girl shrugged it aways, as if it were no big deal, which reminded John so much of Stiles, for the briefest of moments. “Alright, can I ask you a question?” Mercy asked, as she buckled her seatbelt.

“Shoot,” he responded, shaking his head to rid himself of the mental comparison, shifting gears to reverse and pulling out of the lot, driving to his house.

“You barely know me, and you’re willing to do all of this for me. So, I guess, my question is why?” Mercy asked.

“Whether I legally took you in or not, you are my responsibility, and you are my one and only lead on Stiles, so I plan on keeping you close,” the Sheriff explained. He did have a point, and Mercy didn’t blame him for wanting to keep her close by. After all, this was his only son that was in danger.

“Good enough for me,” Mercy concluded. The Sheriff turned on the radio, letting classic rock play softly through the speakers. Mercy nodded her head in time to the music, humming along. She thought about the revelation that had occurred not a half hour before, and took in a deep breath, letting herself fully accept the fact that, she was no longer just your average, adopted, American girl. No, now she was part of an entirely new world, one she barely knew anything about, but there was no escaping it now. Her life had been turned upside down, in the span of a mere 24 hours, perhaps less, and there was no going back. Oddly enough, it was both terrifying and comforting. Kind of like when she was younger and gazed at the stars. The world was much bigger than she had ever thought, so her actions may not have such a big impact, but still, there was so much she didn’t know, and though ignorance is bliss, she wasn’t sure if that ideology applied in this new world. Now, the difference between dying and living, was knowing and not knowing. She sat back in the seat, and shook her head trying to clear her thoughts.

“You okay over there?” the Sheriff asked, voice seemingly louder than what it should have been in the small car.

“Yeah, just letting it all sink in, I guess,” the girl told him.

“So, I guess you got “the talk” then?” The Sheriff said. Mercy noticed how his sense of humor was reminiscent of Stiles’.

“So to speak, yeah.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not all that bad. You get used to it,” he reassured. They drove on in a comfortable silence, neither one wanting to interrupt it, but rather waiting until arriving at the house, before continuing the remnants of their conversation. Once they pulled into the makeshift driveway, Mercy stepped out of the squad car, asking the Sheriff to pop the trunk open. He did and helped Mercy carry her bag in. Just as she had suspected, the trunk had become a mess of clothes and items during the drive. Mercy didn’t mind it much, and it seemed to her, that neither did the Sheriff.

“Alright, welcome to your new home,” the Sheriff stated as they stepped inside his house. It was relatively neat, only a few comic books and notebooks left out in various parts of the living room, the first part of the house. There was a hallway farther in, branching off from the kitchen, with a staircase leading to the second floor.

“Very nice, Sheriff,” Mercy commented. It was a nice house, nothing too fancy, but more homely than anything else.

“Thank you, and please, call me John when I’m not working. I might still be in uniform, but trust me, I’m glad to have the rest of the night off,” he said smiling. “The guest room is this way. There's a bathroom right across the hall, but I’m afraid we’ve been using your new room as storage for a few years now. We haven’t had much use for it, besides that; we rarely get any overnight visitors, unless it’s Scott” he chuckled, leading the way upstairs to Mercy’s new room. He walked down the hallway, past the kitchen and the master bedroom, up the stairs, and opened the farthest door on the right. Inside was a myriad of loose objects, and boxes piled high all around the room. It was a little dusty from not being cleaned in so long, but Mercy didn’t mind. It was a real mattress in a real room, with no dead bolts and tiny windows on the door, which was all Mercy could have asked for, after her last residency. Anything besides the Eichen standard of living was simply amazing. John dropped Mercy items on the bed, which she noticed was covered with a Marvel comics bedspread.

“Umm, that used to belong to Stiles. We can change it if you want, I should have something else in the closet,” John said, walking towards the the two white folding closet doors, facing Mercy’s new bed.

“No!” Mercy said, much louder and forcefully than she had intended. She cleared her throat, a blush creeping up her neck. “I mean, no, thank you. It’s fine like this. I… I actually like Marvel, a lot. It’s fine, really,” she stated, noticing John’s amused expression.

“If you say so, but just know that I have other bed sheets in the closet, if you change your mind.

“Honestly, if I’m changing my mind I’ll probably look for Star Wars themed bedspreads... Do you have Star Wars bedspreads?” she asked, eyebrows raised in apparent excitement.

“Yes, we do,” John answered with a laugh. Mercy smiled and put the things she was carrying on the bed, as well. Her stomach made a noise, and she realized it had been several hours since she had last eaten. Several exhausting hours.

“Umm, do you have anything to eat?” she asked John, timidly. She didn’t want to impose on his hospitality.

“I was actually going to make something for myself. Probably mac ‘n’ cheese. Would you like some?” he responded, making his way back down the stairs, towards the kitchen.

“Oh yes! Anything other than overcooked oatmeal and mystery meat patties would be great,” she joked, though she were being quite honest.  
The Sheriff chuckled under his breath as he nodded. “Two plates of mac ‘n’ cheese, coming right up,” he opened the kitchen pantry searching for a box of easy 3 step macaroni. Mercy sat on the barstool next to the kitchen island, as the dining room table was covered in paperwork, watching as John searched for plates and pots. She propped her head up in her hands, resting her elbows on the marble top, and relished in her newfound freedom. New room, new bed, good food, and a new school. It struck Mercy that she had practically adopted a whole new identity; an entirely new life. She really wasn’t far off from being in the actual Witness Protection Program. It also occurred to her that she was looking forward to it. Even school, which, regardless of being a good student, Mercy had never particularly enjoyed. There were a lot of things Mercy had taken for granted, she was now coming to realize.

“So, tell me about yourself, Mercy,” Stilinski spoke up, interrupting Mercy’s thoughts.

“Is this another test, Sheriff?” Mercy joked, making the older man chuckle.

“No test, Ms. Jacobs. I promise.”

“What do you want to know, sir?” Mercy asked, before getting a look from the man at her use of the term. “Sorry, John. That’s going to take some getting used to, you know?”

“It’s fine, Mercy. I don’t know. Tell me anything. All I know is that you happen to have a lot in common with my son,” he trailed off. Mercy smiled, realizing the man was right.

“Well, I can tell you what makes us different. I can, kinda, sorta, read people’s emotions. It’s my ability, one of them anyways. And if I focus enough I can manipulate them, but no worries, I haven’t done that in a long, _long_ time,” Mercy added sensing John’s unease. “I also don’t have friends like Stiles has. Or even family. He’s lucky.”

John places the plate of food in front of the girl who was now unable to meet his gaze, earning a small mumble of “Thanks,” from her. Sitting across from her, he dips a fork into his own plate, eying her for another moment. Mercy refuses to look up, inwardly berating herself for saying what she did. She doesn’t want anyone to pity her. Doesn’t want anyone to realize how much it hurts that the people she used to trust with everything she had, were the ones who nearly broke her. Mercy doesn’t want to be seen as weak.

“You know, Mercy, I have a feeling that’s going to change,” Mercy glances up at the man, as if she was unsure if she heard him correctly. The sheriff just gives a nod and stands up, plate in hand. Mercy’s quirked eyebrow almost makes the man laugh because of how much it reminds him of Stiles. “How about we go see what’s on tv, huh? I think we could both use a break from the real world for a moment or two.”

John Stilinski exits his kitchen and it only takes Mercy a second to follow in his wake. She most definitely could use a break from the real world.

* * *

 

Meanwhile, back at the Argent residence, Allison was on the phone with her best friend, Lydia Martin. The vivacious redhead had had an epiphany and was now trying to convince Allison it was the route to take. The girl was boisterous as her voice came through the tiny speaker of Allison’s cell.

“I’m telling you Allison, you two look so much alike, you can be sisters if you really went for it.”

“Lydia, that’s not even possible. Besides, why do we need to pretend to be anything? Let alone, cousins.”

“Because, Allison! It’s the best way to keep an eye on her, besides if we say she’s your cousin, it seems much more plausible than saying she’s in WitPro. We don’t know her. She could be working with the Nogitsune. She could be lying, she could be telling the truth, who knows? And you said it yourself, she’s not even human. What if something goes wrong? We need to be near her to prevent anything from happening, even if it’s only the slightest possibility. And, on the off chance that she is telling the truth, Scott did turn her world upside down. Her initial reaction may have been ideal, but when has anyone ever really reacted so well to something like that? She can be a ticking timebomb,” Lyda reasoned.

“Lydia, Scott can tell if she’s telling the truth, remember? And I get keeping an eye on her and I’ve thought about the possibility of her working with the Nogitsune, but I don’t think she was lying about her lack of knowledge. Yeah, her reaction was weird, but she is _something_. Remind you of anyone? That doesn’t make her not human. Which I never said, by the way,” she could almost hear Lydia’s objection, before the girl managed to even speak up. “Yes, we should keep an eye on her. But maybe we should give her the benefit of the doubt?” Lydia only gave a huff in response, so Allison continued. “I know you’re worried about him, Lydia. I am too. Which is why we could use all the help we can get. Maybe Mercy is that help.”

Lydia ignores the remark about her being worried and plunges onward because she still believes this is a solid idea. “She needs a backstory, Ally. This will explain your need to be around her, to keep an eye on her. Plus, she already trusts you the most. And you heard Scott. She shut her mom out. She’s going to need an excuse for transferring to Beacon Hills and she needs a guardian for the paperwork. I propose she’s your cousin and your dad can be listed as her emergency contact. Your dad can forge papers, right?” Allison sighed, already moving from her position on her bed, to search for her father in his office to clue Chris Argent in on this scheme. She still was unsure of the whole thing. Allison didn’t see this “obvious” resemblance that had Lydia all hyped up, so she didn’t know why he was going to agree with any of it. Aside from the fact that Lydia wouldn’t let her plan go, of course. But he could definitely see Lydia’s logic in her reasoning; Allison did want to keep a close eye on the girl.

“And do you want to tell me why Stilinski isn’t the obvious choice for guardianship? She is living with him, after all.”

“Stilinski has a lot on his plate. Besides, if something does go wrong, I think your dad is ideal when it comes to receiving the phone call. Don’t you?”

Allison couldn’t fault that logic, she supposed, and her dad could forge the papers without making the Sheriff’s job any harder. Maybe her dad was the better choice. There was only one way to find out, Allison decided, telling Lydia to hold on.

“Hey, dad?” Allison called, walking into the hunter’s office.

“Yeah?” the man questioned, without looking up.

“Lydia and I, uh, have a proposal, I guess?” Chris raised his head and a brow at his daughter’s unsurety, stopping what he was doing and giving her his full attention.

“Okay…” Allison laid her phone down, face up, now on speaker phone, so Lydia could interject when necessary.

“Hey, Mr. Argent,” Lydia chirped.

“Lydia. What’s this about, girls?”

“Okay, so we’ve kind of got an opportunity here, maybe,” Allison told her father. He nodded, waiting for her to continue. “Stilinski picked up a girl when he went to get Stiles, who was already gone. We think the Nogitsune has taken over,” Allison stopped her explanation for a moment, taking a breath. “Anyways, this girl, Mercy, was there when it happened, so Stilinski got her out of Eichen, hoping she’d have information. We managed to get a lot out of her, and she revealed that she’s an… an Empath?” Allison paused again, hoping her father might be able to identify what exactly Mercy was. Chris only nodded, recognizing the name.

“Yeah, that. Anyways, I had the brilliant idea of making her undercover identity as Allison’s cousin, your niece,” Lydia piped up from Allison’s cellphone. “They could easily pass as cousins, based on an uncanny resemblance, so that’s not the issue. What we really need is a sound cover, which means, we’re going to need forged papers. We figured, since she is already adopted, according to the sheriff, and she completely alienated her parents today, she would be okay as being an “orphan” and this way you can be listed as her emergency contact. You’re the better choice between you and the Sheriff, since he has so much on his plate already,” Lydia stopped her explanation to take a breath.

“So you want me to a fake identity? And the Sheriff is okay with all of this?” Chris asked incredulously.

“Well, we were just discussing it, we haven’t worked it out with Stilinski yet, but I’m pretty sure he’ll be on board with it, if you are. And we won’t make an entirely new identity for her. If we can print out her records, we just need to change her last name and put you as the guardian,” Allison clarified. “It isn’t completely by the book, but what is these days,” she mumbled, not making it a question.  
Chris sighed and turned back to his computer. “Alright, what’s her name?” he asked, opening up what Allison could only assume was some type of government agency’s database.

“Mercy Jacobs,” Lydia’s voice emanated from the cellphone on Chris’ desk. The older Argent typed up the name, and a list of “Mercy Jacobs” came up on his screen. After filtering the content and searching for a few more minutes, using information that Allison and Lydia provided him with, mainly basic details about Mercy’s appearance, Chris managed to locate Mercy’s files, and print out a copy. He closed the database, knowing it probably wasn’t a good idea to stay on there for too long, and scanned the document, pulling it up on an editor on his desktop monitor.

“Alright, what am I changing again?”

“Her last name to Argent. And something stating you’re her guardian now,” Lydia told him. Chris nodded.

“I’m going to need a picture of her to make an i.d., Allison. Bring her by after school tomorrow.”

“So, you’ll come with us in the morning to tell Stilinski? And to register her for school?” Allison asked her father. She was a little surprised he was so behind this. It was a huge difference from where they had started off when they had first moved to Beacon Hills and Allison was so proud of him.

“If this is what needs to happen to get Stiles back, then yes. I’m in. Besides, I always wanted to meet an empath.”

* * *

 

A few hours later found Mercy shifting restlessly against her Marvel-themed bedsheets. Whenever she moved a particular way, the girl had to nearly bite her tongue to keep from groaning in pain. The bed in Stilinski’s guest room may have been a hell of a lot softer than what she had grown used to, but that didn’t seem to agree with her bruised and battered body. Sitting up, Mercy decided it was time to go in search of anything that could possibly help dull the pain. She made her way over to the door, cringing ever so slightly when it made an obnoxious squeak in the dead silence. The girl waited a minute to insure she had not awakened her host before opening it wide enough so that she could slip through. Mercy tried to tiptoe down the hallway, seeming too loud even to her own ears, searching for the bathroom. _“Which door did he say? Ugh, I can’t remember.”_

Trying her luck, Mercy turned the handle of the slightly ajar door that was across hers, pushing it inwards. Of course, it wasn’t the bathroom because Mercy had never been lucky in her life. Instead, it was another bedroom with an unmade bed and its blue comforter. She couldn’t help, but take in the All Time Low poster and the computer desk scattered with books. _“This must be Stiles’ room… I shouldn’t be in here.”_

Mercy backed out of the room, with a shake of the head. She tried to ignore the intense need to go back into Stiles’ room and look around. Walking down the hall to get as far away from Stiles’ room as possible, Mercy tries the door a couple feet down from his, hoping and praying that it wasn’t another wrong door. Fortunately enough, it was actually the bathroom this time. Giving a small sigh in relief, Mercy slipped into the room and shut the door. Turning the light on, she caught her reflection in the mirror above the sink, letting out a small hiss in shock. Her arms had a wide array of bruises and the circles under her eyes were so dark, it looked as though she had been punched. No wonder she hurt. Mercy raised her t-shirt to inspect further, noting that there was slight bruising where Oliver had pushed a taser to her ribs, as well as slight burn marks. _“Way to disfigure me, Oliver. That’s going to scar, I’m sure,”_ Mercy thought with a sigh. Slightly sickened by her appearance, the girl chose to open the medicine cabinet to continue her search for painkillers, instead of fixating on how horrid she was going to look at school tomorrow. _“Not only will I feel awesome, but my looks will match! Fantastic,”_ she thought sarcastically.

Fingers latching onto the bottle labelled aspirin, Mercy quickly opened it, tossing two of the pills in her mouth before turning on the tap, cupping water in both hands, and washing them down. Mercy put the bottle back into the medicine cabinet and she closed the cabinet door, returning it back to its original form, now with her reflection staring back at her once more. Mercy took another handful of water, splashing her face before deciding the only thing to do was to sleep it off. Hopefully, the next morning she would feel more human than she did currently. She sighed, splashing some water on her face, and wiping it off with her hand, then reaching over for the hand towel on the hook beside her to dry her face. She wiped the water droplets off her brow, and after returning the towel to its rightful place, she padded silently back to her room. Pulling back on Captain America’s shield on the corner of the comforter, she snuggled underneath and did her best to fall back asleep. The aspirin pills must have been fast acting, because a few minutes later, her exhaustion won out, and she was out cold.

* * *

 

The alarm clock beside Mercy’s new bed started blaring country music on the loudest volume, at what seemed to Mercy, the ungodliest of hours to wake up. Startled, she lurched off the side of the mattress, a loud thud echoing through the halls of the second floor of the Stilinski household. She groaned, lifting her arm to hit the alarm, trying to silence the raspy-voiced bluegrass singer. She gave up after a few seconds and resolved to unplugging the godforsaken device from the outlet under the nightstand. Mercy shifted her position so now she was sitting on the floor, her back pressed against the bed frame. She pushed a box out of the way, so that she could stretch her legs before her. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and raised her arms high above her head, hearing several satisfying cracks run up and down her spine. A knock sounded against her door, and John stuck his head in the room.

“Rise and shine, Mercy. You’ve got school today. Lydia just called, she said she would be over in about a half hour to bring you some clothes. And Allison’s dad will be here right before I take you to the high school. He said he’s got a good idea for your “new identity.” Hope you don’t mind,” he said, the hair on the back of his head sticking up at an odd angle.

“Thanks Sher- I mean John,” Mercy smiled, correcting herself. “You might wanna brush your hair; it’s got bedhead written all over it,” she added, lifting herself off the floor. The Sheriff raised his hand to his head, and nodded, thanking Mercy as he exited the room. Mercy rummaged through her tote bag, which she had tossed aside as she had gone to bed the night before, pulling out her towel, and a clean pair of undies. Until Lydia showed up, this would be all she had to wear. She walked over to the bathroom, and locked the door behind her. She turned on the shower and let the steam rise before stripping and sticking her toothbrush between her teeth, as she stepped under the warm water. A refreshing 25 minutes later, Mercy emerged from the bathroom, wet hair already combed, body dry, and covered in both her underwear and her damp towel, as Mercy wasn’t about about to flash the Sheriff with her underwear in his own home; that would be _truly_ awkward. She walked down the hall, eyes trained on the floor as she watched her wet feet leave footmarks on the tile floor behind, opened the door to her new room and tossed her dirty laundry into the hamper John had provided her with the night before.

“Morning, Mercy,” Lydia’s voice came from atop Mercy’s bed. Mercy gasped and clutched her towel tighter around her torso, surprised that there was someone in her room.

“Christ, Lydia you almost gave me a heart attack!” Mercy said breathily.

“Didn’t Stilinski tell you I was coming by? I called. Oh, and I brought you some clothes. And makeup. I figured you probably didn’t have any since you were…”

“Residing in a mental institution? Yeah, you can say there wasn’t a whole lot of reasons to get dolled up,” Mercy shrugged.

“Mercy, I…”

“Honestly, Lydia, don’t apologize. It happened. I’m fine with it. And I really appreciate this, just so you know,” she said, giving the strawberry blonde a genuine smile. “It’ll be good to feel and look human again.”

“I’m happy to help! Allison doesn’t let me style her nearly enough, so I’m glad I can use you as a guinea pig,” Lydia stated with a wink, pulling items out of the tote that Mercy now noticed was sitting beside the girl. She laid out her various combos of skirts and tops that wouldn’t clash too horribly with Mercy’s much darker complexion. “As you can see, I don’t wear a lot of pants,” Lydia explained, stepping back and observing Mercy as if she were this giant puzzle meant for only Lydia to solve.

“That’s fine… I shaved this morning. Um, Lydia, are you sure this stuff is going to fit me? I, uh, kind of…” Lydia smirks, watching Mercy gesture at her more curvy figure. Mercy figured she had some kind of Latin blood in her due to her curves and skin tone, but it was just a guess. Well, that and she was pretty bomb when it came to high school Spanish classes.

“I took that into account, honey. I brought my longer skirts. How about this one?” Lydia asked, holding up a pleated blue, black, and white plaid skirt.

“Yeah, that could work,” Mercy nodded. She took the cute skirt from Lydia’s outstretched hands, and shimmied into it, accidentally dropping her towel in the process. Mercy blushed, unused to showing so much skin to anyone, despite her little risque act with Stiles. It was more to screw with the boy than anything else.

“It’s fine, Mercy. We’re both girls, and besides, you’re beautiful. I wish i had those curves,” Lydia mumbled, rummaging through her collection of shirts. Whilst Lydia was busy with that task, Mercy finished pulling the high-waisted skirt up, and sighed in relief when she was able to button and zip it without a hassle. Lydia was right they were about the same size. Lydia passed over some black knee socks and gave the girl a knowing grin.

“Perfect combination. Now, I just need to find the right shirt…” she uttered under her breath. A solid black top caught Mercy’s eye and her hand shot out to grab it before it was lost in the whirlpool that was Lydia’s collection of items.

“This. This is great,” Mercy said with a smile. The top was a simple high-necked black crop top, perfect for accentuating Mercy’s curves, without showing too much skin. She pulled the top over her head and grinned when it turned out to, also, be a perfect fit.

Lydia’s eyes widened slightly when she saw her creation. “I couldn’t have done any better. You look great. Lemme just cover up the bags under your eyes, and maybe a little cat-eye, and you’ll be done,” Lydia said. Mercy could practically see the pride and satisfaction rolling off of the pretty redhead, but even if she couldn’t see it, she could definitely feel it. “Sit, sit,” Lydia motioned for Mercy to sit on the bed next to her, once she had all the make-up supplies she needed.

“Do you really need that much concealer?” Mercy eyed the huge glop of concealer that Lydia placed on her wrist for easier use.

“Believe me, you look like you just fought John Cena. Besides, it’s your first day of school in how many months? You want to look your best,” she responded, placing her palm on Mercy’s forehead to tilt it back, and gain better access to Mercy's undereye bags. Mercy let the girl work her magic and closed her eyelids.

“Well, if that’s the case, then I’m gonna need something to cover up the bruises on my arms,” Mercy mumbled, not really expecting Lydia to hear her comment.

“Hmm… That sounds like a problem for future you. For now, I’m focused on your eyes,” Lydia mumbled quietly, trying to focus on what she was doing. It took Lydia no longer than fifteen minutes to fully cover Mercy’s bags, and give her a flawless cat-eye, one that Mercy knew she would never be able to recreate. As she examined Lydia’s handiwork in the small hand held mirror she provided, Mercy let out a low whistle.

“Wow, Lydia. I look amazing. I didn’t think It would be possible to hide those bags, but… wow,” Mercy was left speechless as she stared back at her own reflection. Mercy had never been a huge fan of make-up. She was pretty good at applying it, but she never could find the time in the morning to actually _sit_ and go through the whole process properly. But, now seeing her reflection in the handheld, and seeing that she actually resembled a human, had Mercy taking second guesses about the amount of effort she was willing to put into her daily routine.

“Glad you like it,” Lydia smiled. “I’m leaving these clothes here. Use what you want, they're yours till you get your box of clothes. But the make-up I used on you. That’s yours. I have no use for it. A friend had given it to me for my birthday last year, and evidently the person knew nothing about how makeup works. I mean, please, do I look that tan to you? Anyways, they’re brand new, so don’t worry about any of that,” Lydia said as she gathered her personal supplies.

“Thanks, it means a lot that you're willing to do all of this for a complete stranger,” Mercy expressed her gratitude, handing Lydia her hand held mirror back.

“It’s no big deal,” Lydia waved off the comment, and hoisted her, now much lighter, tote bag on her shoulder. “I’m going to put this in my car, and I’ll call Allison, see when she’ll be getting here,” Lydia said stepping out of the room. Mercy nodded in response, adjusting her shirt to smooth the few wrinkles that had formed. There was a knock on the door and she turned to see John standing in the doorway.

“Do you want breakfast? We have cereal, or toast, if you want any,” he asked.

“Cereal is fine, I’ll be right there. I’m just gonna organize a little bit, the bed is a mess of clothes,” Mercy responded, turning back around and starting to fold the clothes closest to her.

“Well, I’ll leave the box out for you. Oh, and, um… Holly called not too long ago, said she wanted you to check your bank account. And I told her about your box of clothes already,” John mentioned, careful not to say “mother”, knowing that full well that Mercy wouldn’t react very kindly to that.

Mercy stiffened slightly, but continued to fold. “Yeah, okay. Can I check that on your computer, sometime later today?” she inquired.

“Stiles, left his PC unlocked, if you wanna check it there.”

“Alright, I’ll do that soon, thanks, John,” Mercy finished folding, and placed the clothing in neat stacks on the dresser. There were items and boxes strewn about all over the room, the dresser being the only, truly empty piece of storage where she could place her things. John left nodding to himself and Mercy was left with the privacy of her thoughts.  _“What could they possibly want with me now?”_ Mercy debated whether she should check her account now, in the morning, or later after school, but her curiosity won out and she decided she would check it out once she was done with her breakfast. She padded down to the kitchen, black socks comfortably snug just above her knee. As she sat down at the table and started pouring herself a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, she looked up when John Stilinski walks into the room, donned in his uniform. The man gives her a smile and looks around for the other teenage female, Mercy had to assume.

“Where did Lydia get off to?”

“Um, she went outside to put her stuff in her car and to call Allison, I think,” Mercy spoke up. She was about to grab the milk to add to her cereal, when she considered how long Lydia had been gone. “Actually, she’s been gone for a little while now. Imma go check and see if she’s alright.”

Mercy stood up and slipped on the Eichen House provided slippers that she had left by the door, in case she needed to actually walk outside, before opening it to stick her head out in search of the teenager. However, before she could even turn the knob fully, Mercy overheard Lydia speaking. Apparently, the girl was just on the other side, leaning on one of the rails of the front porch, phone pressed to her ear, still talking to Allison, if Mercy had to guess. Not wanting to interrupt, Mercy released the door handle and shuffled out of the slippers once more, when she heard her name. Head tilted to the side, the girl couldn’t help, but wonder as to what Lydia and Allison were saying about her. Mercy stepped back long enough to stick her head around the corner to see if Stilinski was still in his kitchen and when she saw the man was preoccupied by coffee and a newspaper, she went to the door once more. Hoping she wouldn’t get caught in such an awkward position, the girl stuck her ear against the door to listen.

“I mean, so far she seems fine, but I don’t really know what we expected, anyways. What’s the likelihood that she’d reveal something so soon after meeting me? We’ll just have to wait and continue to keep an eye on her,” Lydia told her friend. The redhead waited a moment, taking in Allison’s words, probably, before answering. “He didn’t come up,” Lydia’s response was rather short and Mercy figured the “he” was in reference to Stiles. Mercy couldn’t get a read on Lydia’s emotions at all and it was extremely frustrating. She wanted to know what Lydia was feeling, but, instead, she kept running into that damn wall, just like she had faced with Meredith. She didn’t know what the girl was, but it was clear that she was _something._

Mercy decided to return to the kitchen before Lydia, or the Sheriff, caught her with her ear pressed to the door. No need to make things anymore awkward with an unnecessary sitcom moment. Honestly, she didn’t know how to feel about what she had overheard. On the one hand, she was disappointed and a little hurt to learn that they were keeping an eye on her. On the other, Mercy admitted to herself, that it was quite understandable that they would want to watch her. Mercy was a stranger with unheard of abilities who had been found in a nuthouse. Why would they trust her? Why wouldn’t they keep an eye on her? Still, Mercy knew she was going to be extra cautious when it came to this group that she had somehow managed to stumble into.

When Mercy found her seat, grabbing the milk once more, the sheriff fixed his gaze on her. Watching her pour the white liquid, he asked the obvious question.

“Lydia?”

“She’s still on the phone. I didn’t want to interrupt,” was all the response it seemed he was going to get. Inwardly shrugging, he returned to reading his paper, not thinking much of the curt answer. Mercy ate her cereal at a languid pace, knowing she had some more time before it was time for her to go. While John continued reading the morning paper, awaiting the Argents’ arrival, Mercy placed her bowl in the dishwasher, and walked upstairs to Stiles’ room. As she started climbing the stairs, she heard the front door slam, and Lydia walk in from outside.

“I called Allison, she said they were only a few minutes away,” she tossed over her shoulder to the Sheriff, walking towards Mercy, who only nodded in acknowledgement of Lydia’s comment. Mercy entered Stiles’ room without saying a word, sitting down at Stiles’ computer. It was, as John had mentioned, unlocked, so she was easily able to enter her bank account through Chrome, the only internet browsing application she ever used. As she waited for the page to load, she turned the swivel chair, facing Lydia, who was standing just inside the doorway, lips pursed in deep thought.

“So… What classes do you take?” Mercy interrupted Lydia’s train of thought.

“It’s AP US History, English, AP Physics, Calculus, Art, and a free period, not in that order” Lydia said with an air of nonchalance, inspecting her nails for any kind of disparity. Mercy raised her eyebrows, impressed, but not entirely surprised. Mercy knew this girl had a quiet intelligence, like the kind of smarts that she used to hide, but now, it was just an accepted part of her. She was unsure as to why she made such an assumption when it came to Lydia, but that’s what struck her.

“Those are some pretty hard classes there Lydia. I’m impressed,” Mercy complimented the teen, turning back to the computer screen. Mercy clicked around her bank account, navigating towards the page that would show her the total amount of money she had accumulated. Once the screen loaded, she froze in shock. “Holy fucking shit…”

“What is it, what happened?” Lydia asked, slightly taken aback from Mercy’s choice of words. Mercy only pointed at the screen, letting the numbers do the talking.

Lydia was left speechless as she read the numbers in bold, flashing across the screen. Mercy knew the Jacobs came from old money, mainly from the generations old business that her father owned, and the young law firm her mother ran, but she never expected to come from _that_ much money. Clicking furiously around the website, Mercy pulled up her transaction history. It listed her entire bank account history, from whenever she made a pitstop at a McDonald's for food, to whenever her parents deposited her monthly allowance. But now, at the very top of the list, the most recent action on her bank account, no longer listed when she had last visited a Starbucks cafe, it now listed the amount of money her parent had deposited that morning. And it was much more than just her monthly allowance. It was more than, double, even triple her allowance. The Jacobs had deposited $1,500,000 into Mercy’s account. It was a big shock, but somewhere in the back of Mercy’s mind, she knew this money must have come from their savings account they had reserved for her, from the time she had been adopted.

“You’re _loaded_ ,” Lydia said, still standing over Mercy’s shoulder.

“I can see that,” Mercy responded. “But I don’t even have a debit card… I’ll just ask John to take me to the bank tomorrow.” She heard the front door open and close, heavy footsteps that could only come from booted feet, echoing throughout the house. Mercy closed the browser, and rose from her seat. “That’s probably Allison, we should go,” Mercy said, sidestepping around Lydia and exiting Stiles’ room. She heard Lydia follow her towards the front door, closing Stiles’ door behind her.

“Hey, Mercy. Lydia,” Allison greeted them from halfway up the staircase.

“Hey Allison. So, what’s the big plan?” Mercy asked.

“Basically, you’re now my cousin. Welcome to the family,” Allison said, with a slight grin.

“Interesting…” Mercy said, letting it trail off. Now she has yet another family member who doesn’t fully trust her. Just what she always wanted.

“Well, come on. My dad is explaining it to Stilinski, so you can get the full picture,” Allison told her, turning around and making her way back down the stairs she had previously ascended. Mercy followed closely behind and when she was able to see the two men, her curiosity was piqued. The other man was maybe an inch shorter than the sheriff, but he had the same regal air as his daughter. He radiated calm and strength, but with the same tinge of worry that everyone Mercy had encountered since leaving Eichen carried. As if he knew she was scoping him out, Allison’s dad looked up to see the three girls that had entered the room, his sight zeroing in on the empath. Mercy held his steely blue gaze for a second, before he gave her a smile. He reached out a hand for Mercy to shake, which Mercy did. When Mercy touched the man’s palm with her own, however, something weird happened. She all of a sudden felt a surge of confusion, but that confusion didn’t belong to her. It had to belong to Mr. Argent. Why this man would be confused by her just upon sight baffled her, but she wasn’t going to draw anymore attention to herself, so she simply let his hand go after a brief shake.

“You must be Mercy. I’m Chris,” he said with that same smile. The man had one hell of a poker face. Mercy could see no signs of the confusion that she had felt visible in his features, and she had no way to know if he had felt the weird surge of power when she shook his hand. She had never experienced that sensation before. It was as if upon contact, she managed to single out one solitary emotion.

“Nice to meet you, Chris. So, does this mean I’m your niece or?” Mercy asked, trying to move on after the slightly awkward introduction.

“That’s the plan, yeah. It’s easier to explain that than to have the Sheriff tell them you’re in WitPro. Less hoops to jump through,” Chris explained. Mercy saw John nod in response to the idea, so if John was okay with it, she decided it was at least worth a try.

“Alright then, Uncle Chris,” Mercy said, with a wink, trying her luck with some humor. “I’m pretty much set and ready to go, I just don’t have any shoes,” Mercy said looking down to her black sock-laden feet, wiggling her big toes.

“I should have a spare pair of boots in my trunk,” Allison chipped in. “What size are you?

“7 ½ to 8, it depends on the day,” Mercy said looking up at her new “cousin”. “And the shoes, of course.”

“Great! We wear the same size; I’ll bring ‘em, so you don’t have to walk out there in just socks,” she back tracked her way to the front door, leaving the house to find her boots.

“I must say Mercy, when Allison said you were an Empath, I was a little shocked. I’ve only ever heard of them, but never really met one in person before. Quite frankly, I’m rather intrigued, I thought your kind were extinct,” Chris attempted some small talk.

“Well, that makes two of us. I’m the only one that I know of and, to be honest with you, I don’t really know anything about it. Besides what I’ve read and experienced, of course,” Mercy responded, clasping her hand behind her back and rocking on her heels awkwardly. She was never the best at small talk, and she still wasn't quite sure what being an Empath was, exactly.

“How does it work? I mean, your abilities,” Chris inquired. Mercy shifted again, when she noticed everyone’s gaze fall on her. They all wondered and wanted to know the answers to a question that only Chris seemed willing to ask.

“Well, I can feel your emotions. Sometimes, I can make people see things that aren’t there. But from what I found online, this is just the beginning. I remember reading something about all Empaths starting off with the same abilities, and as I get older, I develop more and more, and… well yeah, that’s all I know. I also know, that you’re confused. I could sense it when I shook your hand.” Mercy explained, rather straight forwardly. She knew, by the way Chris held himself, that this man was not one for playing games, and talking in circles. Mercy knew a more direct approach was better when it came to this man.

“Huh,” Chris raised his eyebrows. “Well, you got me there. I was just trying to read you. In my own sense, anyways; I can’t read people like you do,” he said, uncrossing his arms. Just then, Allison returned from her trip to the car, a pair of black, short boots in hand, with a small 1’ heel.

“These are great! Thanks, cuz,” Mercy gave the brunette an exaggerated wink, taking the boots and sitting down on the closest chair to put them on. She looks back up at Chris as she laces up the shoes. “So, what are you, then? Are you _something_ , as well? Sorry, if that comes off as rude. I’m not quite sure what the social etiquette is when it comes to dealing with the supernatural.”

Chris gave a small chuckle and a slight shake of the head. He actually found this new girl quite amusing. “I wouldn’t know the etiquette myself because I’m not anything. I’m human. A hunter, actually,” he tells the blue-eyed girl in his gruff voice.

The girl froze for a moment, before shifting to put on the other shoe. “Hunter? Seriously? They exist too? What’s next, a unicorn?” she said, slightly exasperated.

“You’re an Empath, Mercy. Doesn’t get more real than that,” Chris added.

“Okay, okay. You’re right. Fair point, but do you hunt _all_ supernatural creatures? Like kill them, and put their head on the wall? Taxidermy, type stuff?” she asked, masking her worried expression underneath her amateur poker face.

“No, that would be evidence.”

Mercy looked at Chris dead in the eye, with an open mouth. _Evidence?_

“Relax, Mercy. It was a joke. No, we do not keep the head, though. And we only hunt down the ones that have already hunted innocent people. Or, at least, that’s what we do now. I like to think I’ve retired, but the life always finds a way to suck me back in,” he explained, hands moving around as he talked.

“Okay. So, what do you use? To hunt monsters, I mean. I doubt it’s your run-of-the-mill shotgun and blood hound,” Mercy stood from her seat.

“Well, you’re right. We find a way to use pretty much anything lethal. Handguns, semi automatics, small bombs, electricity, ultrasonic emitters, bows and arrows too. That’s Allison’s specialty,” Chris placed a hand on her daughter's shoulder. Mercy felt his pride swell, and couldn’t help but smile at the two.

“It also depends on what we’re hunting, of course,” Allison spoke up.

“Hate to break up the conversation, but I’ve got to get to work. I trust you can get her to school safely, Argent?” John stood from his seat at the kitchen table, and clipped on his gun holster.

“Don’t worry, Sheriff. I can handle this,” Chris answered stepping back to let the Sheriff pass. “We should get going, as well. Girls,” Chris called, as he followed behind John. Allison followed with Lydia close behind. Mercy quickly grabbed the old beat up bookbag that the Sheriff had lent her, stuffed with school supplies, from its place on the living room couch. She locked the door behind her, as she left the house. The Sheriff was already pulling away from the driveway, waving good bye from his seat inside the vehicle. Mercy waved back, and walked towards Chris who was unlocking his car.

“You can ride with me if you want, Mercy, or go with the girls in Lydia’s car,” Chris spoke up.

Mercy glanced between the two vehicles, and stepped closer to the older Argent.

“I’ll ride with you, Chris. I want to hear more about this hunter business,” she smiled to the greying man, already leaning back in the driver’s seat, as she opened the passenger door. He revved the engine, and as soon as Mercy was situated, he backed up, shifting gears every so often, and followed behind Lydia as they drove towards the high school.


	5. Little Empath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings, lovelies! It is us, Ashley and Dakota, otherwise known as Dash, here to give you all a well-deserved Valentine’s Day gift: the next chapter of Disturbing the Void! Yes, we know, we know, it took us a very, very, very long time to get this chapter done. In our defense, we were not expecting school to get so demanding, and for our lives to become so hectic. But, all that is in the past (HOPEFULLY), and here is the next chapter that we hope will satisfy you hungry, hungry readers. This chapter is well over 30 pages long, and though it is not canon, we find that it explores the relationships between our daughter, Mercy, and various other canon characters. We felt the time between Eichen and the finale of this installment of season 3 was a little short, so we decided to extend it by a couple days. Some of you might find it a little tedious, but fear not! We are exploring uncharted waters, true, but our course is clear and we shall be docking soon enough. Anyways, enough of our unnecessary tangents, as you can see we are a tad delirious with the excitement of finally uploading this chapter. Also, we would like to apologize for any possible grammatical errors that we may have overlooked. Not to mention, the lack of Stiles Stilinski in this chapter. He’ll be joining us soon. Well, Void!Stiles will be joining us soon… Anyways, ENJOY!!! Feel free to review with comments, suggestions, riddles, anything. We love it when you guys leave us messages. Thanks to all those who have, you mean the world to us. And thank you for being patient with us! (Remember comments are love! And it’s Valentine’s Day! Aka the day of love… I think you catch our drift.)
> 
> Warning(s): Some strong language, Possible trigger(s): stress, bruises, brief mention(s) of abuse, brief mention of a panic attack
> 
> Disclaimer: Unfortunately, negotiations fell through and Jeff still won’t let us have a piece of the Teen Wolf pie, so we’re sad about that, but, the bright side is Mercy Jacobs and her influence on the TW-verse still remains ours, so there’s that…
> 
> AO3: So.... Basically we're really dumb and we completely forgot that we had been uploading this fic on AO3... And then it took us forever to actually get the chapter up cause we type the story on a google doc, but whatever formatting we have gets erased when we move it to the chapter editor on this website. But rest assured, the chapter is up and running now. Enjoy!

“I’ll ride with you, Chris. I want to hear more about this hunter business,” she smiled to the greying man, already leaning back in the driver’s seat, as she opened the passenger door. He revved the engine, and as soon as Mercy was situated, he backed up, shifting gears every so often, and followed behind Lydia as they drove towards the high school.

* * *

 

 

They had arrived shortly before the first bell. Allison and Lydia had scurried off to their own classes soon after they had parked, and Mercy was left to follow Chris towards the high school’s registration office. Once there, they were told to sit and wait, while the secretary attended the couple that had come in before them. Mercy, who had her legs crossed at the ankle and arms crossed over her chest, couldn’t seem to still her fingers, which were tapping a nervous rhythm on her right arm. She couldn’t help but recall when she had stilled Stiles’ nervous tick back in Eichen. It seemed so long ago now, almost a completely different life. So much had already changed since Eichen and she knew it was only the beginning.

“Nervous?” Chris asked his “niece”.

“Who, me? Nah. What makes you say such?” Mercy asked in return, looking at him, pulling her eyes from one of the “inspirational” posters attached to the walls of the office; it was of a cat hanging from a tree with the caption “Hang in there!” underneath. Pretty sure every school since the start of the century had that poster _somewhere_ on a wall. She had decided that the school system was well aware of how much torture it was to attend school if they needed to reassure you to “Hang in there!” with cute, little, kitty cats holding on for dear life as inspiration. Chris, with a quirked eyebrow, looked pointedly at Mercy’s fingers before returning the girl’s gaze. Mercy slowed her movements before stilling them completely and uncrossing her arms. She simply gave a shrug, which earned her a small smile from the older man.

“Don’t be nervous. It’s just high school, right?”

“Is that supposed to reassure me or?” Mercy asked him, with a bit of incredulity seeping into her tone, because, honestly, he couldn’t be serious. High school was a modern day hell on earth. “I mean, you’ve _been_ to high school, right?”

“Fair enough. Just remember to keep your chin up,” Chris told her genially. Mercy looked at Chris for a brief second before facing forward once more. He radiated a sort of tranquility, amongst his other emotions, which Mercy decided to latch onto and “borrow” to help calm her own emotions. From what she could tell, the Empath had somehow learned that she could “borrow” emotions for herself or for others without diminishing the emotion of the person she was taking it from in the first place. It was a handy trick, if she was being honest with herself. It all still confused her, but Mercy knew she couldn’t run from her powers, so she might as well embrace them. She was glad to have Chris with his calm demeanour by her side because otherwise, Mercy knew she would be a complete wreck.

“Thanks,” Mercy said quietly, seeing Chris’ simple nod in response out of the corner of her eye. They stayed quiet for the rest of their wait and before she knew it their names were called.

“Mr. Argent?” the secretary to the registrar’s office spoke up from behind her computer screen. “Unfortunately, our registration counselor is out sick today, but the principal will be more than happy to assist you two today,” the middle-aged, brunette woman explained, with an apologetic smile to Mercy and her new uncle.

“As long as my niece gets the attention she deserves, I don’t see it being a problem,” Chris told her, throwing in a charming grin for bonus effect. Mercy saw the woman almost melt in her desk chair, forcing the Empath to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

“We will certainly make sure she is taken care of, Mr. Argent,” she said, pushing a lock of her hair behind her ear. Mercy nearly lost it at that movement. When the woman called to see if the principal was, indeed, ready for them, Mercy snickered, giving Chris a playful elbow to the side.

“Smooth,” she whispered out of the side of her mouth. Chris merely smirked in return, with a barely discernible nod in thanks.

“Principal Thomas will see you now, Mr. Argent, Miss Argent,” the secretary told the duo, not forgetting to give Chris a parting smile. He only nodded back, and Mercy held back another snicker, as they walked into the small office.

“G- Good morning, Mr. Argent,” Principal Thomas greeted from behind his desk, with a shaky voice. There was a thin sheen of sweat forming on the older man's brow. He stood and offered a sweaty handshake to Chris, and then to Mercy, who felt the waves of nervousness and an intense fear oozing from his pores. “P- Please, take a se- seat. How can I b- be of assistance t- today?” he stuttered.

“Well, my niece here, Mercy, recently moved to town. She is now under my custody,” Christ explained. “Since she will be living with me from now on, I figured it would be best to enroll at the high school as soon as possible. Here are her papers,” Chris pulled out a small stack of, obvious to Mercy, forged papers. “They should all be there.” Principal Thomas nervously flipped through the stack, Mercy could sense his fear like a sack of bricks being slapped upside her head. She tightened her fist, hoping to keep herself tethered to the real world. Chris side-eyed her, noting the movement, but made no other acknowledgement.

“Yes, yes, they are a- all here.” The principal placed the papers down and started typing furiously on his computer. Chris patiently waited for the process to finish, while Mercy chewed on the inside of her cheek, praying Chris’ skills in forgery were as good as she had hoped they were. After a long ten minutes later, in which Principal Thomas asked a few questions regarding Mercy’s schedule, the process was complete.

“Alright, there’s just one more step I need to complete. This is the physical copy of the emergency contact information that the school is required to keep on file at all times,” the older man slid a slip of paper with a pen across the desk to Chris. “Errm… If you don’t mind my asking, what happened?” he gestured, rather vaguely, towards Mercy’s arms, which she quickly went to cover with her hands. She was officially uncomfortable, to say the least. Chris sensed as much, looking at the poor girl, becoming incensed on her behalf. Mercy didn’t know how to feel about that. Nor did she know how to feel about the pity that was now coming from Thomas as he eyed her bruised appendages. The man having any kind of change in emotions towards her appearance, was based on completely unfounded principles. “ _What the hell does he think happened to me? Crap, does he think I was abused?_ ” Mercy thought, a slight frown forming on her face.

“Well, Mr. Thomas, I _do_ mind you asking. Why Mercy was given into my custody is quite frankly, _none_ of your business,” Chris jumped to Mercy’s defense. His change in sentiment was nearly as confounding as Principal Thomas’. Chris’ anger was very much present now, when it wasn’t a few moments before. Mercy was surprised that her fake uncle would come to her aid so quickly, and with such fervor, but she was grateful, all the same. Chris stood over Mr. Thomas now, his shadow loomed over the shorter man. Mercy saw, as well as felt, the fear pool in the man’s eyes, but she couldn’t summon even an ounce of pity for him. “ _Serves him right for making crazy assumptions like that. Even if they seemed fairly well grounded; these bruises look like someone beat me with a bat. Damn...”_ Mercy inwardly ranted to herself. While she was consumed by her thoughts, Mr. Thomas hastened to print Mercy’s schedule, and take the half filled contact card from the desk space in front of Argent. With a trembling hand, he handed the schedule to Chris, who snatched it without looking. His eyes were too busy burning holes into Mr. Thomas’ skull.

“Have a _great_ day, Mr. Thomas,” Chris threw over his shoulder, as he exited the office. The secretary from before, tried batting her, obviously just-brushed-with-cheap-mascara, eyelashes towards Chris, but he barely even registered the woman. Mercy followed behind the fast walking man, pausing to take her textbooks from the secretary, who now wore a sad frown. Mercy shot her an apologetic smile, and followed Chris into the empty hallway. He paused mid stride and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Mercy. I didn’t know he was going to ask that,” he sighed, turning back to face Mercy. There may have been the words “uncouth” and “imbecile” mumbled, as well, but Mercy didn’t acknowledge it.

“It’s fine, really. I don’t blame him, my bruises got worse last night. Gifts from Eichen,” she shifted, to rest her pile of textbooks against her hip, wanting to drop them to rub her arms and soothe the deep ache that suddenly cried out from within her bones. “You know… when I first walked into his office, I was overwhelmed by his fear. Even now, out here, I still sense it. Did you ever… do anything to him? I mean, I’m not trying to be shady or anything, but fear like that only comes from people who have… encountered certain things before, and would much rather not repeat the experience,” Mercy asked, looking up at the blue-eyed man.

“I’ve done things I’m not proud of, Mercy; things from before my honor code changed. Mr. Thomas was on the wrong side of that change,” Chris gave a world-weary sigh, not as ready to look the girl in the eye as he was previously.

“So, what’s your honor code now?”

“Nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger eux-mêmes,” Chris told her, looking the girl dead in the eye once more.

“We protect those who cannot protect themselves,” Mercy translates, before her eyes widen. Chris quirks a brow, impressed.

“You speak French,” he says. It’s not a question, but Mercy shakes her head rapidly.

“Um, no. No, I do not. Like, _at all_. I don’t think I’ve ever even heard it before today. “Frère Jacques” is as far as it goes for me,” she clarified. “I mean… Spanish is the only foreign language I have ever studied, and even then, it was just the one year I needed for my graduation requirement. This… This is weird,” she ranted, kind of freaking out because how in the hell?

“Hey, hey,” Chris placed his hand on Mercy shoulder. “Don’t panic. We’ll figure it out. Okay? We’ll do some research after school, see what kind of answers we can come up with,” he consoled Mercy. She nodded in response and took a few deep breaths.

“Okay. After school, then,” she answered, more to herself than to Chris. She glanced down at her class schedule, which rested face-up on her textbooks. “My first class is… Introduction to Business? Ugh,” she sighed, not entirely pleased.

“Hey, at least it’s better than woodshop, which was the only other option. Allison has that class, so you won’t be alone,” Chris smiled. Mercy nodded, and noted the double-meaning. Sure, she would know someone so she wasn’t sitting completely alone in the classroom, but then again, that someone was keeping a wary eye on her, in case Mercy snapped. Or started spouting random languages that she shouldn’t be able to speak or understand. Yeah, this was going to be a blast.

She waved goodbye to Chris and turned in search of the classroom that held her first period. Mercy tried to steady her breathing and calm her nerves. Just being in the hall of a high school was quite the ordeal for an Empath. There were so many emotions. You’d think it would be worse in a mental health facility, but for Mercy, school had always been the onslaught. Not to mention, her “power” seemed to be extra sensitive these last few days, so that didn’t help matters in the slightest. Every door she passed had people behind them who were filled to the brim with colliding emotions. Anxiety, depression, lust, love, worry, stress, anger, fear, and various other things that teenagers weren’t supposed to be able to feel, if you asked most adults. High school was rough and Mercy not only had to deal with her own personal emotions, but with those belonging to all the other hormonal teenagers in the building, as well. It was just… Loud. Cacophonous, even.

Taking a deep breath as she came across the door that held her first class, she hoisted her textbooks in one arm, turned the doorknob and pushed. Everyone turned to look at the door, happy for a distraction, Mercy was sure, but she didn’t enjoy being stared at, regardless. At the front of the room stood a man with dark, slightly spikey hair wearing a polo and what could only be described as an annoyed expression. He also had a whistle hanging around his neck. Mercy knew from experience that meant only one thing: he was the resident coach. Hooray.

“Who the hell are you?” he asked, bluntly.

“Um, Mercy J- Argent? Sir,” she replied, awkwardly pulling her crop top slightly lower, where it had hiked up from her textbooks, to make sure her skin was covered. She knew it came out as a question and she was hoping no one would notice. Not to mention, the slight slip of the beginning of her real name.

“ _Another one?_ ” he tossed his head back, running a calloused hand over his face. “So, what are you, her sister, or something?” he eyed Mercy, noting the frank similarities between the two girls. His eyes traveled to Allison before returning to the new girl. Mercy’s eyes followed the teacher’s gaze and got a small smile from Allison.

“Cousins, actually. She just moved here,” Allison piped up from beside Scott, in the third row of the classroom. Heads turned to the girl wearing combat boots, then back to Mercy. Some raised their eyebrows, others boredly doodled in their notebooks.

“Fine, whatever. I don’t care; as long as you aren’t as much a pain in the ass as Greenberg,” Coach eyed a boy sitting in the back, who only stared back, as if he was used to the constant snarky comments from the black haired man. “Matter-of-fact, you have detention, Greenberg. For… for… doesn’t matter what for, but you’ll be scraping gum from under my desks today! You, other Argent girl, sit behind Danny,” the Coach pointed at a tan, clean shaven boy with a crooked smile and deep dimples. He half raised his hand, and waved at Mercy. She simply hoisted her bookbag more securely on her shoulder, and walked towards the empty desk, intent on having as much of a “good” first day as she could.

* * *

 

“My god, I thought that class was _never_ going to end,” Mercy whispered to Allison, as they exited the Coach’s class. He kept screaming at Greenberg, but no one paid him any attention.

“Yeah, sometimes Coach tends to get on these tangents and it’s kind of best if you just go with it,” Allison shrugs. Mercy nods as they stop by the lockers. How she managed to be only a few lockers down from the huntress, she had no idea, but here she was. Mercy dropped her books on the floor in order to open the lock, before putting them in. She organized them in order of her classes, grabbed the necessary one for her second class, and after closing the door, leaned against the array of lockers, rubbing at her arms, again. Allison noticed.

“Hey, you okay?”

“Uh, yeah, just… They’re not very pretty, are they?” she gave a dry, unamused laugh. Allison gave a small smile, showing that she understood that the new girl was slightly self-conscious about the dark marks on her arms. Grabbing a black leather jacket out of her locker, she passed it over to her “cousin”.  Mercy looked at her for a second before taking it and shrugging it on. “Thanks, Allison. I really appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it. What’s your next class?” Allison pried her notebook from within the confines of her locker, and looked over to Mercy, eyebrows raised.

“Umm,” Mercy pulled out her schedule from where she had stuck it in her textbook. “I have English next. You?”

“Same. Actually, mind if I see your schedule?” Mercy passed the sheet over for Allison to inspect. “We have the next two classes together,” she smiled at Mercy.

“Wonderful. So, which way is it?” Allison headed towards the English classroom, making mindless small talk with Mercy, which she was glad for. It kept Mercy’s mind off the intense emotions ricocheting off the walls of Beacon Hills High School.

Two hours later, found Mercy and Allison exiting their French class, trying to crack the code as to why Mercy was picking up on the language so fast.

“It’s weird, Allison. It happened this morning too. I had asked your dad what your new hunters’ code was and he said it in French. He didn’t even have to translate it, I automatically knew!” Mercy whisper-yelled, as they neared their lockers.

“And then, it happened again in class. You spoke so fluently, I swear if I didn’t know any better, I would say you’re a French exchange student,” Allison commented, bag slung over her shoulder.

“Exactly! And it wasn’t conscious. I just… I heard her greet me in French, and I answered. It was so second nature. I didn’t have to think about it, I just switched from English to French so easily,” Mercy wrung her hands, weirded out by her newfound linguistic giftedness.

“Maybe it has to do with your Empath abilities? It's a long shot, but what else could it be?” The girls paused in front of their lockers.

“Maybe, I don’t know. Scott mentioned something about his veterinarian boss during English. Maybe he can help? Give me some answers?” Mercy asked, unlocking her locker and putting her books in. She grabbed her lunch, which the kind, John Stilinski had prepared for her that morning, before she had even gotten out of the shower. It was a simple, peanut butter and jelly sandwich, but to her, it was heaven.

“Maybe… I’m sure he could take a look at you tomorrow; today you’re coming to my place for your I.D., don’t forget,” Allison closed her locker.

“I won’t. I’ll meet you by your car during our free period. You go ahead and eat your lunch. I’ll find you in a little bit, I gotta go to the bathroom,” Mercy said as she walked past, heading for the girls’ restroom. Allison tossed a “see ya,” over her shoulder walking toward the school patio tables, searching for her friends.

A few minutes later, Mercy was emerging from the restroom and heading towards the direction she had seen Allison head towards earlier, when she realized she had left her water bottle in her locker, and Mercy was feeling a little thirsty. She sighed, slightly frustrated, and headed back towards her locker. She opened it, and just as she wrapped her hand around the bottle and pulled her arm free of the metal container, the locker door spontaneously shut closed; loudly. Startled, Mercy jumped, as a small cry escaped her lips.

“Well, well. Aren’t you a pretty, little thing?” the cause of the noise spoke up. The towering boy was invading her space, making Mercy feel like she couldn’t breathe. He began to box her in with his arms and Mercy took in his appearance. He seemed like your typical juice-head jock, complete with the over-inflated ego. He sported a worn out, football varsity jacket, army buzz cut, foul, cigarette breath, and the sweaty odor of someone fresh out of the boys’ locker room.

“Look, I’m trying to get to lunch, so if you don’t mind,” the girl made to move, but the space between her and the imbecile just seemed to decrease in size.

“See, I do mind. I’m trying to ask you a question, new girl. No need to be rude,” he sneered.

“I’m the one having my space invaded and _I’m_ the rude one? How does that work, exactly?” Mercy resorted to pure snark for her defense. There was no way she’d be able to overpower the personification of roid rage, so she used her words to, hopefully, protect what was left of her well-being.

“You know, you got a bit of a mouth on ya. I can think of other things you could do with a mouth like that.”

“And I know what you could do with yours; wash it. God, your breath smells like a donkey’s ass,” Mercy was losing her patience now. That was never a good thing; especially with her powers freaking out the way they had been lately.

“You should be grateful I’m even paying you any attention, you little bitch,” he sneered, pressing his hips against Mercy’s legs, losing his patience. She squirmed under his weight, trying to escape. Mercy was really beginning to think this dick was related to Brunski. This conversation seemed a little too familiar for comfort. She laughed in his face, making sure he knew she was mocking him.

“ _Grateful_ ? I should be grateful that _you_ are paying _me_ attention? Really? Why is that?” Mercy kept talking trying to buy herself time.

“Because I heard that you were in the loony bin a few days ago. Be careful, baby. Don’t want anyone finding out you’re crazy, do you?” he laughed when he saw the girl’s eyes widen. Mercy had no idea how he would know about her being in Eichen, but that wasn’t really something she wanted getting around school, regardless. “You know, I hear the crazy ones are into chains and shit. Tell me, baby, are you kinky like that? Do you like being tied up?”

No one could hear what was being said, but anyone still in the hall heard the resounding slap that Mercy delivered to the boy’s face. It stunned him for a second, but he shook it off long enough to grab the girl by her already bruised arms and slammed her against the lockers. Mercy had barely let out a grunt of pain before the pressure was off of her and she heard the brutish guy being slammed up against those same lockers right alongside her, with his arm twisted at a very painful angle to keep him held there. Scott ran to her as she lost her footing from being pushed against the wall so hard, but she gasped when she took in the fact that Allison was the one who held her perpetrator hostage. Scott gingerly held Mercy up by her elbows, careful to avoid touching her forearms. She watched in amazement as the lean female growled in his ear.

“It’s not nice to beat up on people, Duncan. Unfortunately for you, I’m not very nice,” she said with a cold smirk, twisting his arm a little more, causing Duncan to cry out in pain. “Especially when idiots, like you, think it’s okay to assault my friends. Because it’s not. Mess with her again, and everyone will know that a girl beat you up. We all know your _tiny_ ego won’t be able to handle such a blow.”

Allison slammed his face against the locker once more, for effect, before letting him go. Mercy’s eyes were still wide and she looked at Scott once more, taking in the proud twinkle in his eyes. Duncan just grumbled something before walking off, cradling his injured arm, making sure to glare at all of them one final time before walking out of sight. Looking at her new hero, Mercy opened her mouth to say something, but no words could express her thoughts. Allison noticed the silence and looked at Mercy, who promptly shut her mouth, realizing it was still agape. She was just so impressed. Allison simply shrugged, like it was nothing.

“You okay?” she asked the girl. Scott let Mercy go as soon as he was sure she wouldn’t fall over.

“Uh, yeah. Thanks… Um, how did you know that was happening?”

“Scott heard you. Well, he heard Duncan,” Allison’s tone told Mercy exactly what she thought of Duncan. Mercy didn’t need to have seen what had just happened, nor did she need to be able to feel the girl’s residual anger, only hear the way Allison said his name to know that the huntress thought Duncan was absolute scum.

“Second question; how did you do that?” she knew by Scott’s chuckle that she must have looked like an overeager, yet amazed kindergartner. She knew that’s how she felt.

“Honestly, I can show you better than I can tell you. Meet me in the parking lot when free period starts,” Allison said, before walking back the way she had come. Scott threw a smile Mercy’s way and they both followed.

* * *

 

The rest of the day flew by uneventfully. Mercy enjoyed lunch with Lydia, Allison, Scott, Kira, and the twins, Ethan and Aiden. The group shared a few stories with Mercy that she would’ve thought started around the campfire, quite frankly; things she would never have believed a few days previous. Their first half of junior year had been pretty busy, as well as their sophomore year, Mercy soon came to find out. Mercy could feel that Allison wasn’t fond of sharing so much with Mercy, despite practically saving her life earlier, but Scott was so eager to bring her into the fold, Mercy was hit with a kind of emotional whiplash. From Scott, she got excitement and tinges of sorrow, yet from Allison, she was hit with waves of mistrust, skepticism, and annoyance, though Mercy wasn’t entirely sure if all of those emotions were directed at her. Still, Allison kept her game face on, smiled when she should’ve, frowned when the moment called for it. Mercy tried her best to seem trustworthy and she listened with rapt attention, but it was slightly difficult knowing how Allison really felt. Nonetheless, it seemed to her that slowly, but surely, she was winning Allison over. It was clear, there was still a ways to go, but with time things would get better. Time. That seemed like the only thing that Mercy had, time.

Mercy had music with Danny for her fourth period, and the two got along really well. She thought that Danny just might possibly be the nicest human being she had ever met, honestly. The class was slightly more enjoyable thanks to him, and her getting to play music again definitely lifted her spirits even more, especially after the whole Duncan fiasco. Although it had been months since she had last seen or even touched a cello, (she dearly missed hers so much from where she had left it back at her old home), it fortunately turned out Mercy still had a knack for it. Sure, she played a few wrong notes here and there, but it _was_ a new composition she had never played before, and she _had_ been sight-reading it. Danny stood with his trumpet right behind her, whispering jokes every now and then to lift her spirits up. It seemed that he knew just how horrible first days at school were, and she was grateful that he had gone out of his way to make sure she laughed that day; even if it was at _just_ the wrong moment. Mercy was sure the music teacher already hated her guts, despite appreciating her skill.

After music, came physics. Most of her newly made friends were in that class, and they ventured out to the lacrosse field for a hands-on type lecture. Just the basic mentos-in-diet-coke trick; like Mercy had never done it before as a child in her backyard and broke her neighbors’ window. The memory brought a smile to Mercy’s lips, the bittersweet nostalgia of a simpler time, when breaking your neighbor's window was like first degree murder. Class was over soon enough, Mercy being the only one sensible enough to bring her bag on their adventure downstairs.

“Hey, I’ll meet you at my car, just have to run up and get my stuff,” Allison said, as she walked past Mercy back towards the building. Mercy nodded and turned towards the parking lot. She figured she still had a bunch of time so she languidly strolled towards the paved block filled with vehicles, some new, some used. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a figure, tall and dark. When she turned towards the sight, she saw a tall, handsome man, wearing rather dark clothes, staring _right at her_ . Mercy couldn’t quite explain how she knew he was looking at her of all people, now that the lacrosse field was filling up with sports players and sixth period P.E students, but she could sense his gaze. The hairs on the back of her neck rose and a tingly feeling shot up her spine, causing her to hike her bag higher onto her back and walk faster towards the parking lot. The figure never moved, but still Mercy could sense the person’s gaze burning holes into her back. Mercy gave up on all pretenses of calm as panic rose in her throat and she sprinted towards Allison’s car. The brunette was still getting her things, but Mercy just needed to get away. She ducked behind the body of the car and peered through the window to where the figure was. Or used to be, because as Mercy searched for her stalker, she noticed how the person had disappeared into thin air. Seriously, whoever it was that had been following Mercy had just _poof_ , gone.

“Hey, are you okay?” Mercy whirled around startled, swinging her bag at the same time to whack her attacker. Only, it wasn't an attacker at all, it was just Scott, she soon came to realize. The tan boy easily stopped the bag from hitting him, simply catching the bag with his hand; he didn’t even flinch.

“Ohmigosh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it was you. I thought… nevermind, what I thought,” Mercy ranted, taking her bag back from Scott and placing it on the ground by her feet. She eyed his arm cautiously, still not used to the thought of him being a werewolf with superhuman strength and all. An average human would’ve broken their wrist trying to stop her bag, at the very least bruised and sprained it, but Scott… His arm didn’t even budge.

“Who did you think I was?” Scott asked, leaning against his motorbike. In Mercy’s rush to get behind cover earlier, she didn’t even notice that Scott had parked his bike next to Allison’s car.

“It’s just… I don’t know, I felt like someone was following me. Just earlier while I was walking off the field, I saw some… guy, I guess? He wore dark clothes and he was all the way on the other side of the field but, I swear, he was watching me. I got scared, so I ran. It was really weird, and slightly terrifying,” Mercy explained, readjusting the jacket she was borrowing from Allison on her shoulders. Recognition flashed in Scott’s eyes and he peered around Allison’s car to look towards the lacrosse field. He furrowed his eyebrows, in deep thought, and as much as Mercy longed to know what he was thinking, she couldn’t get a solid read on him. Just as she opened her mouth to ask if he knew who her stalker was, Allison arrived.

“Ready to go? Sorry, I took so long, I had to make a pit stop at my locker and grab a textbook,” she explained, as she pressed the unlock button on her key fob.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m ready,” Mercy looked at Scott, silently pleading him to keep silent about what she’d said. She didn’t want Allison to take it the wrong way or something and suspect her of anything foul. Thankfully, Scott got the message and placed his bike helmet on, flipping the visor over his eyes. “See ya, Daft Punk,” Mercy joked as she bid adieu to the teen werewolf. Mercy opened the passenger side door and tossed her bag into the back seat. She waved a final goodbye to her new acquaintances as she drove past their group, and buckled her seat belt securely.

“Listen, since we’re technically in free period now, we have another hour before my dad expects me to be leaving school. I have to make a quick stop at the hospital to visit my… friend,” Allison explained, taking a left turn. “His name is Isaac, and, well, he’s wasn’t doing too good the last time I saw him… Hopefully, he’ll be awake today,” she mumbled.

“It’s no problem,” the Empath assured the huntress. There was a sadness when Allison spoke of Isaac, maybe a tinge of guilt, even. Mercy had a feeling there was a good probability that guilt was misplaced. It was just a hunch, but it was a strong one.

“So, uh, how did you like your first day? Wow, I sound like such a mom! Sorry,” Allison asked, after driving for a good five minutes in absolute silence. Mercy threw a smile the girl’s way, appreciative of the effort Allison was making.

“No, it’s cool. Um, it was good, I guess? Had its ups and downs, of course, but it could have been worse, you know?” Mercy gave a shrug. “I think knowing a few people helped a lot. Made it easier.” Allison nodded, confirming that she understood.

“Yeah, I get how that makes it easier. I was the new girl once, but I didn’t know anyone. It’s better when you know people.”

The two girls lapsed into silence once more, but it wasn’t necessarily awkward. It was just… silence. Mercy could do silence. Apparently, Allison couldn’t, though. She turned the dial on her stereo, letting the car fill with music as opposed to searching aimlessly for something to say.

“Oh, thank God,” Mercy breathed out in relief, before she realized she had spoken aloud. She slapped a hand across her mouth, turning to look at Allison in absolute horror. Opening her mouth to say something, all she could manage was an, “Uh…” before Allison burst into a small fit of giggles. Her sudden laughter shocked both girls enough to cause Mercy to join in. They both were having a great time attempting to contain it, with shakes of the head and tears forming at the corners of their eyes. Luckily, they were at a stop sign by this point, so Allison could take the moment to compose herself. Any passersby would think the two had lost it. It was as though a cap had been unscrewed on a container, releasing everything that had been held in for too long. The two girls had let a lot build up, respectively.

“Thanks. I needed that,” Allison said, after she had a second to calm down.

“I think we both did,” Mercy nodded, coming down from her high, as well. She was relieved that some of the tension broke between the two. Mercy wanted to get along well with Allison and she knew there was more to what was going on with her than met the eye.

A few minutes later found the girls pulling into the Beacon Hills Memorial parking lot. The tension that had not too long ago left the vehicle was now replaced with an overflow of concern and unease. Allison was now so full of worry that when she pulled into the first space she saw, sliding the gears into park, the girl didn’t make a move to get out of the car. Mercy had to take a deep breath, the feelings being so overwhelming. She didn’t know how to help her new acquaintance, having not seen the girl in this light before. Allison was strong, Mercy knew that. Mercy also knew that Allison wanted to be seen as such, but she was very conflicted internally. She had no idea who this boy was to Allison, but the huntress was… scared to go in and see him.

“Uh, I can stay in the car, if you want?” Mercy wasn’t sure if Allison wanted her to go with her or not, but she needed to break the silence. She needed Allison to go see Isaac because that’s what Allison needed to do. Mercy could feel it.

“No! I mean, uh, you can come... I didn’t expect you to sit in the car,” Allison rushed out. She was facing Mercy, but she seemed to look everywhere else, rather than facing the girl’s gaze head on. “I’m just… concerned for him. I- I don’t think I can even face him alone. You don’t mind coming in with me, do you?” Allison’s uneasy eyes, finally, met Mercy’s. Mercy smiled kindly in response; she could tell it took a great deal for Allison to admit to her fear, to ask for help even, but she was glad Allison had taken the small leap of faith and trusted Mercy with this piece of information.

“Of course, I don’t mind. I mean, I know we don’t really know each other that well, but I’ll be there if you need someone to lean on,” Mercy smiled. Allison only nodded, and took a deep breath readying herself to exit the car. With a final nod, she opened the car door and got out, Mercy following not far behind.

It hit Mercy then, as she was walking through the hospital doors. The familiar smell of chemicals and medicine piercing through her sensory nerves, and she was sent back to Eichen House. Her hands trembled, pupils shrinking in fear. Allison continued forward, towards the front desk. Mercy stood frozen in shock, not snapping out of it until a man pushed past her, an annoyed expression etched across his face. She walked forward then, standing behind Allison, shoving her hands in her jacket pockets to hide the trembling.

After asking a quick question to the nurse manning the front desk, the girls were turning down the labyrinth of hallways heading to Isaac’s room. The door was closed when they got there, and through the window the girls could see a light haired boy with his eyes closed, as if sleeping, with vibrant flowers on the nightstand beside him. Allison pushed the door open and entered the room. Mercy followed and was hit by the strong scent of medicine and cleaning chemicals once more. She swallowed back the bile rising in her throat and closed the door behind her.

“He’s still not awake,” Allison said softly, as if not to wake the boy. She stood at the foot of his bed, flipping through the clipboard tied there, with the boy’s medical records. He was good looking, features pale and soft, but with a sharp jaw. Mercy noticed his arms had deep burns, though not as bad as they could be, she supposed. There was also a deep redness on his neck; he was healing, at least. Mercy tried reaching out to the boy with her mind, curious as to who this boy was, but reached a thick fog, similar to that of Scott’s and the twins’.

“Is he a werewolf?” Mercy whispered quietly, although it was just the two of them in the room, no other ears to listen in on them. Allison nodded in response, still looking through the clipboard; it didn’t escape Mercy how Allison had yet to lay eyes on the boy. Mercy reached out again, but this time instead of stopping when she hit the fog, she ventured further. It was… dark, but warm. She could feel the boy’s mental presence around her. It felt like he was actively fighting against something. She drew back, not wanting to interfere with his battle to heal. When she opened her eyes again, she saw that Allison was now standing over the boy, cradling one of his hands in one of hers, her other one gingerly swiping the hair from his forehead. But Allison’s eyes were trained on Mercy, a sense of knowing coming from her. “ _She must’ve realized what I was doing…”_

“Uhhh… I didn’t mean to intrude or anything, but… well, curiosity got the best of me...” Mercy paused, feeling guilty for doing what she did yet, at Allison’s silence, she kept explaining her actions. “He’s still there. I mean, not that I thought he… Not that I thought he wasn’t. But he’s fighting. I think he was fighting to wake up, or, at least, to heal the burns on his arm,” Mercy continued, pointedly looking at the marks on the boy's forearm. She suspected that Allison had secretly wanted Mercy to read the unconscious boy, to inform her of his status.

“Thanks. I… I guess a small part of me really wanted to know. If I’m being honest with myself,” Allison responded, going back to stroking Isaac’s hair, confirming Mercy’s suspicion. The Empath nodded, and sat in one of the two uncomfortably stuffed chairs in the hospital room. The steady beep of the heart monitor, and the light buzz of the other machines the fair-skinned boy was connected to, were the only sounds echoing within the white walls of the room. Mercy fought to keep her heart rate under control, wiping her sweaty hands on her skirt. She took deep breaths, but still adrenaline rushed through her veins, an uncomfortable feeling emanating from deep within her bones. It wasn’t for another few minutes, until the near silence was broken by a doctor stepping into the room.

“Oh. I didn’t know Isaac was expecting visitors today,” he said, clasped pen and clipboard in his left hand.

“Yeah, I just wanted to check up on him, see if he had woken up,” Allison replied softly.

“Well, his condition has improved since being admitted to the hospital; we moved him from the ICU yesterday, when we noticed his condition had stabilized, and his burn marks had started improving,” the doctor started explaining Isaac’s situation to Allison. During this exchange, Mercy decided it would be best to give the two of them their privacy; she felt as if she were intruding, so she quietly slipped away, silently grateful for the chance to escape the rank, medicine-smelling room. She walked quickly to the nearest exit. As soon as the door was open, she gulped in the fresh air, not unlike someone that had been drowning and had managed to break the surface of the water mere seconds before drawing their final, water-filled breaths. Mercy drew lungfuls of air, stumbling across the sidewalk towards a wooden bench, its white paint peeling from years of exposure to the natural elements. She sat down heavily, hands gripping the edge of the bench, as if they were the only means of staying tethered to her body. Mercy shook with relief at being free of the confines of the hospital and its putrid scent. She squeezed her eyes shut and forced the panic rising in her chest to subside. Her breaths were still labored, her ears rang, and she could barely feel the slight pinpricks of splinters of wood piercing her skin. To Mercy, it seemed like several lifetimes had passed before she was able to regain control of her breathing and open her eyes. When her pupils adjusted to the harsh sunlight, she noticed Allison was kneeling in front of her, hand tightly gripping Mercy thighs. Mercy could see her lips moving, but it took a few seconds before the sound registered.

“Mercy? Mercy? My God, Mercy, respond!” Allison frantically shook Mercy legs, which prompted Mercy to, at long last, release her grip on the old creaking wood, and wrap them around Allison's taut arms. Words couldn’t form in Mercy’s mind as she fell back to reality; her mouth opened and closed wanting to explain how she was 100% okay, and she had just needed a minute, but nothing came out. Allison visibly relaxed when Mercy emerged from her stupor, but she did not move from her position at Mercy's eye level.

“I… I’m fine. Just needed some air,” Mercy gasped out, after a few seconds of intense silence.

“You don’t seem fine. What happened?” Allison asked, eying the girl warily. Mercy noticed she still had a tight grip on Allison’s arms, which the Empath promptly let go of, while Mercy waited for her pulse to stop racing.

“Nothing…” she finally admitted.

“That didn’t seem like nothing. It most definitely seemed like something, so why don’t you try again?” Allison suggested with a stern face.

Mercy was contemplating whether or not she should express her newfound fear of hospitals. She didn’t really want Allison to think less of her, to think Mercy weak, despite Allison having shared a moment of weakness with Mercy only a few minutes before entering that godforsaken place. Allison’s fears seemed far more substantial than hers and Mercy didn’t want to bother the girl with her own pitiful excuse of a phobia. _“Way to be pathetic, Merce. You practically had a panic attack over nothing. Meanwhile, Allison is concerned for her friend and keeping it together, yet here you are losing it over nothing,”_ she berated herself internally.

“Were you overwhelmed by the emotions in there? I mean, you could feel Isaac, but you had to push a bit, right? So, I imagine you totally opened yourself up? Or did you feel everything as soon as you went in? Sorry… I just don’t know how it works,” Allison reasoned, scrunching her brow. Mercy stared at the girl in front of her, amazed by the deductions that just spewed from her lips. The brunette may not have guessed the full reason for Mercy’s needing to step out for air, but her guesses as to what her abilities were like, those were pretty spot on.

“No. It’s fine. That was all pretty accurate, actually. I mean, I felt it all as soon as we walked in, but pushing with Isaac did make it… louder. It can definitely be overwhelming,” she nodded. Allison shifted from her kneeling position to sit beside Mercy on the bench.

“So, is it always like that?”

“No, not always. Some times are worse than others. Some days, I can kind of block it out. It’s more like white noise, I suppose. But, places with mass amounts of people feeling a variety of emotions are usually tough, initially. Overwhelming, if you will,” Mercy was looking only at the ground, swinging her feet back and forth, with a grip tight on the bench.

“Places like hospitals.”

It wasn’t a question, but Mercy nodded anyways.

“Like hospitals. Schools, airports, train stations, et cetera. I think you catch my drift.”

“I do. That sounds vaguely terrible, I gotta admit,” Allison said, giving the girl a small smile. She couldn’t imagine what Mercy must be feeling or how she was even able to distinguish what she felt personally and what everyone else was causing her to feel. Allison had a newfound sense of admiration for the Empath.

“It can be a real pain in the ass, to be quite honest,” Mercy looked down at her hands, picking at her nails.

“Sorry. I doubt I can be of much help, considering. But I’m pretty much done here. We can go back to my place, get you your I.D.,” Allison said, stepping away from the girl on the bench.

“Great. I really need to get away from here,” Mercy stood from her place on the worn down seat, the white noise filling her head once again. The pair of girls headed back to the car, silent, but glad to get away. The entire car ride to the Argent penthouse was filled with low volume music from the radio, some new pop songs, some old overplayed ones, but Mercy wasn’t complaining. It had been so long since she had listened to current music, she was glad to hear any at all.

“Well, here we are. Welcome to my humble abode. Don’t touch anything, it might be booby trapped,” Allison opened the door to her apartment, sporting a grin in Mercy’s direction. Mercy knew that Allison was joking about the booby traps, but she wouldn’t be entirely surprised if she learned that it wasn’t just a joke.

“You’ve got a nice place,” Mercy commented upon entering the foyer. Her comment came out rather blasé, but in reality, Mercy was incredibly impressed. She could tell the Argents weren’t rich, but pretty damn well-off.

“Thanks,” Allison tossed her bag onto the living room couch and headed toward the kitchen. “Want anything to drink? I’ve got Coke,” her voice emanated from just inside the fridge.

“Water is fine, thanks. I’ve lost a taste for sugary, carbonated poisons,” Mercy replied sarcastically, but with good humor. Allison only chuckled and poured a tall glass of iced water for her guest. She handed the Empath her water, and started walking towards the back of the spacious apartment.

“Dad? You here?” Allison called out.

“In my office. Is Mercy with you?” a slightly muffled voice wafted through the corridor. Allison led Mercy to the last door on the right, and opened the door to reveal Chris hunched over a camera facing the wall with a blue blanket taped across it, mimicking the background at the DMV. He looked up when the two girls walked in, shooting Mercy a warm smile, and pressing a light kiss to Allison’s forehead. “I’ll take that as a yes. Nice to see you, again, Mercy.”

Mercy threw a small grin his way, after taking a swallow of the cool liquid. “You too, Mr. Ar--- Chris. Sorry, still not used to that.”

“You’re going to have to get used to it. You can’t very well go around calling your uncle “Mr. Argent”, you know?” Chris reminded her gently, giving her another smile. He realized this was a lot to handle for the girl, especially considering her last two days. “So, how was school?” he asked, changing the subject.

“It really wasn’t as bad as I had expected it to be,” Mercy admitted. “Allison definitely helped the time go by faster. The others, as well,” Mercy continued. “Though, there was this one part...” Mercy started, intending to tell Chris about that smelly, prick of a juice-head jock that tried to intimidate her at lunch, but from just behind the older Argent, she could see Allison shaking her head no, and Mercy could feel the urgency in the action, despite its subtlety. Immediately, Mercy dug through her mind, for something else adequate enough to say.

“What?” Chris looked at Mercy, concern hidden just behind his eyes.

“Well, when I was in French... I don’t know, it’s weird, like this morning with you. It was like my brain automatically understood it. Both languages just seemed the same to me. I couldn’t really tell the difference; I responded in French when I was spoken to in French, and I switched to English just as easily. I can’t explain it. It just kind of… happened,” Mercy explained the weird sequence of events that occurred in her French class earlier that afternoon.

“I see...” Chris mumbled in response. He was looking at Mercy, but not exactly, he was so deep in thought. A few seconds of awkward silence ensued until he finally shook himself out of his thoughts. “Well, I’ll go over the Beastiary, see if I can find anything on Empaths. You might want to ask Deaton about it tomorrow, though. He knows more about the supernatural world than he likes to let on. But, right now, let’s just get this I.D. out of the way. Then, would you like to stay for dinner?” Chris bustled about the room, finishing setting up the lights and hooking up his computer to the camera. Mercy nodded, and maneuvered her way towards her seat.

The pictured came out nice; the make-up magic Lydia had performed that morning lasted all day, and saved Mercy from an embarrassing photoshoot. Once the authentic looking I.D. was printed and all of Mercy’s paperwork was finally in order, the trio filed out of Chris’ office, towards the living room. “I’m sure you guys have a bunch of time to kill before dinner. Why don’t you take Mercy out for a ride, Allison? I’m sure she’s had only a limited view of this town, since she was released,” Chris suggested to the girls. It wasn’t a bad idea if Mercy was being honest with herself. She turned to Allison who lifted a shoulder in consent.

“Yeah, I wanted to show her something, anyways,” Allison agreed and grabbed her keys off the coffee table. “See you in a bit,” she tossed over shoulder as they exited the foyer. Chris just murmured an agreement, already distracted once again. Mercy could only assume it had something to do with her.

“I’ll see you at dinner, Chris. And thanks for the I.D.,” Mercy said just before the door closed behind her. They made their way to the car and hopped in, when Mercy had an idea. “Hey, mind if we run a quick errand? I’ll explain on the way,” she turned to Allison as she clicked her seatbelt in place.

“Sure, where to?” Allison put the gears into reverse and pulled out of the driveway, heading towards the main street.

“The nearest cell phone company. I checked my bank account this morning, and it seems like Phillip decided to transfer my college funds early,” Mercy joked, still uncomfortable with the amount of money she received that day. “Let’s just say I’ve got enough to buy myself a place and live comfortably for, at least, 5 years, no problem.”

Allison only nodded and turned right heading towards the local Verizon store. Mercy was glad she didn’t ask any questions. She’s not entirely sure how that conversation would have turned out. They made small talk on the way to the store, and when they pulled in Mercy politely asked for Allison to wait for her there. Her new friend was cool with that, and it only took 20 minutes for Mercy to walk out with the iPhone 4s, 32 gigs, and 4G LTE data, with a monthly allowance of, like, 20 gigs. She was happy with the purchase, and decided to restore all her contacts from her iCloud account while they drove away. She ended up deleting almost all of her old contacts, knowing that if she contacted 99% of her old friends she would have a lot of drama to deal with. She got a couple numbers from Allison, and just relaxed on the ride towards… towards… “Hey, Allison, where are we going, anyways?” Mercy asked realizing she had no idea what the youngest Argent was up to.

“Remember when you asked me how I did what I did earlier? With Duncan? Well, I was gonna show you,” Allison said, as she suddenly turned off road.

“Uh, okay? Should I be frightened, right now, or?” Allison’s smirk in response wasn’t exactly a comfort for the Empath. “Allison?”

“Just trust me, okay?”

“Do you trust me?” Mercy blurted. She wanted to know if Allison would reveal the truth to her. Despite only having spent a few hours with the girl, Mercy felt they had broken down some serious barriers, but she had no way of knowing if that feeling was mutual without prying.

“Don’t you know the answer to that?” Allison asked after a minute of side-eying the girl in her passenger seat.

“I don’t pry without permission. But, how about we pretend that I don’t know? Pretend that I have no clue how you’re feeling,” Mercy shrugged.

“Okay, honestly? I don’t know if I trust you or not. I trust you more than I did yesterday. I even trust you more than I did this morning, but I don’t know how far that trust goes, just yet. But I do like you, despite all that and, perhaps, against my better judgement,” Allison let out a breath, finally stopping the car near a wall of trees. Mercy appreciated the huntress’ honesty and nodded before responding.

“Fair enough. So, what exactly is it that we're gonna do here?”

“I figured I would show you the basics, AKA self-defense,” was her only response. Mercy nodded in once more and climbed out of the car. Allison maneuvered herself to the back of the car, whilst Mercy watched on in interest.

“So, we’re in the woods, why?” she asked, watching as Allison pulled a bow and quiver of arrows out of the trunk of her car. She quirked an eyebrow, but didn’t comment on the weaponry.

“I just like training out here. It’s easier to focus,” Allison told her, shutting the trunk. “Come on, you’ll see,” she threw over her shoulder, heading for the wall of trees. Not really one for the outdoors, Mercy made sure to keep up with Allison.

“So, do you train often?” Mercy asked to fill the silence. She stepped over a rather large tree root that snaked its way across the forest floor.

“Yeah. Once a week, at the very least. I tried training Lydia here once, but it didn't go so well.” She stopped a few yards from a tree that seemed to have many small piercings in its bark. Cracking her neck, Allison nocked a bow and aimed at the tree. If Mercy hadn’t been watching her so intensely, she wouldn’t have noticed the breath Allison released as she let the arrow fly. It was as though the bow was merely an extension of her body and Mercy was enthralled watching the simplicity of the action. Oddly enough, learning to use a bow and arrow had always been something Mercy had wanted to do.

Mercy realized she had been staring perhaps a few seconds too long and she shook her head to clear it. “That… That was awesome,” Mercy breathed out.

“Thanks. But we should get to work,” she handed the bow to the Empath, who nervously grabbed hold of it.

“Here, you nock the arrow like this. Putting this part here, and pulling back until it's right by your chin, this is called your anchor,” Allison helped Mercy to pull back the string. She could feel her arm muscles tensing, and struggle to hold the string so far back, for so long. “Take a deep breath. Elbow higher. Now breath and when you exhale, let go of the string,” Mercy nodded slightly and prepared for release. She breathed and let go of the string, as instructed. The arrow seemed to fly in slow motion, the metal sliding right past the arch of the bow. The arrow sailed through the air and embedded itself in the tree. Not exactly where she was aiming, but not too far nonetheless. “That’s... actually pretty good. Have you done this before?” Allison said, impressed with Mercy’s marksmanship.

“No, I haven’t. This is my first time,” she replied, lowering the bow, a little shocked herself. She had no clue how she managed to hit the tree on her first go.

“We should definitely practice that more, later, though. I think you have some serious potential when it comes to archery. Have you done any self-defense or hand-to-hand training before?” Allison asked, taking back the bow that Mercy held out to her and leaning it against the nearest tree.

“That would most definitely be a negative. Phillip and Holly were of the belief that violence was never the answer,” Mercy snorted derisively.

“Well, I’m definitely of the opinion that a basic knowledge of self-defense never hurt anyone. It would have come in handy with that bastard earlier, that’s for sure,” Allison remarked, turning to face her “student”. Mercy was in full agreement with that. Hell, she could have used the basics in Eichen, too. Just another thing Phillip and Holly seemed to have screwed her on, it would seem. “Okay, so first…”

A cold chill traveled up Mercy’s spine, and her Empath senses started “tingling”. She looked around seeing no one, but Allison. She struck her hand out, motioning for Allison to stop what she was doing. “I think, someone is here...” Mercy whispered softly. Allison visibly tensed, grabbed her bow, and nocked an arrow so fast the movement barely registered with Mercy. Mercy tried to pinpoint where the signature was coming from. It was hard to tell, the person obviously was not human, nor was the person someone that she knew, else she’d be able to tell. Mercy pointed past the tree, knowing the person was generally in that direction. Allison nodded and started towards there. She aimed in the direction that Mercy pointed out and waited. She hadn’t told Scott or any of the others where they were going to be, so she was quite ready to shoot and ask questions later. It could be anyone, or anything, and she wasn’t going down without a fight. The intruder, apparently no longer caring about a silent entrance, stepped on a stick causing the crack to ring out in the silence. Allison decided to fire a warning shot, in case it was someone they knew. Releasing the string, the arrow soared hitting a tree right beside the head of the person.

Derek, finally showing his face, merely smirked. “Well, hello to you, too.”

“You should have said something! I thought you were…” Allison was going to say Stiles’ name, but she decided against it. She had just realized that was who she was waiting to step out. It was hard to think of Stiles as the enemy, but her mind had already made that distinction, evidently. She lowered her bow and waited for Derek to explain himself, but naturally, he did no such thing. “What are you doing here, Derek?”

“Um, this is my land, last time I checked. The real question is, what are _you_ doing here?” he asked, eying the other girl. Mercy didn’t like his stare and it occurred to her why he seemed familiar.

“Were you the guy that was stalking me at school today?” she asked, suddenly angry.

“I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about. Stalking seems like a stretch, though,” Derek smirked, picking at his nails.

“But you _were_ watching me,” Mercy asked again, shifting her weight.

“So, you’re an Empath, huh? I’ve only ever heard of your kind once before,” the cocky son-of-a-bitch evaded Mercy’s question, tilting his head to the side in question.

“You still didn’t answer my question,” the now enraged Empath, crossed her arms.

“You’re unable to read me, aren’t you?” the werewolf smirked.

“So what? Doesn’t mean I can’t hurt you,” Mercy stood fast, tired of letting herself be overpowered by other people.

“You? Hurt _me_? I find that hard to believe, little Empath,” Derek took a step forward, squaring his shoulders.

“Derek-” Allison tried to interject.

“Well, believe it, you overgrown furball!” Mercy yelled, her hand shooting forward, curling into a fist. Derek fell to his knees almost immediately, clutching at his head, groaning in pain.

“Mercy! MERCY! STOP!” Allison ran over to Derek, dropping to her knees beside him. He may not always have been one of the “good guys” and the two may not have always gotten along, especially when it came to Peter and Kate, but Allison recognized Derek as a part of Scott’s pack; her pack. She didn’t want to see him hurt.

“He shouldn’t have provoked me. I’m still learning, dammit!” Mercy lowered her hand, appalled that she had let her anger get the best of her. She didn’t walk any closer to the pair, nor was she apologetic, but she was still worried she had hurt the werewolf. “ _And here I was making such good progress on the trust front. Nice going, Mercy_ ,” she internally chided herself. Derek released his head, the searing pain gone, replaced by a dull throb. He attempted to get back on his two feet, but faltered, ending up on one knee, as if proposing. He raised his gaze towards Mercy, who stood with her arms crossed, biting her lip worriedly, with a hint of awe in his eyes. In all his years of confronting all sorts of pain, and supernatural creatures, never before had he experienced what the unassuming girl had done to him. Allison hooked her arms under his right armpit, heaving upward, to help him get back up again. Her eyes were also wide with shock and reluctant awe. The huntress could count on a single hand the amount of times she had seen Derek fall that easily. It was unnerving to see that happen again, and with a girl just months younger than her, petite in comparison to the huge werewolf.

“What did you do to him?” she asked grunting with the effort of keeping the large man standing.

“I just…. I made him relive the worst pain he had ever felt, multiplied tenfold,” the Empath answered. “So, that he learns his lesson and doesn’t mess with me again,” she pointedly looked at the older man, who was now able to stand on his own two feet, although he looked a little green. “Still find it hard to believe that a “little Empath” can hurt the big bad wolf?” she sassed.

“Point taken,” he grunted, unable to help but feel impressed, though he would take that admittance to the grave.

Mercy nodded once. “Does no one trust me? We’re on the same side here,” she mumbled under her breath, forgetting the two that accompanied her, had sonic sharp hearing.

“I don’t think you have to worry about Scott trusting you. Sounds to me like Derek made that decision,” Allison commented. Derek just shrugged, not wanting to voice that truth aloud. Mercy’s phone dinged in her pocket. Surprised that she was getting text messages so soon, she unlocked it to see who it was.

_Text message from: John Stilinski_

_Hey, glad you got a phone. I’ll be coming home late. It’s been a pretty busy day at the office and I still have a bunch of paperwork to do. There should be some leftovers in the fridge if you get hungry. Don’t wait up for me._

“Seems like the Sheriff has a long night ahead of him,” Mercy said aloud.

“Well, you were already planning on joining us for dinner so that works out,” Allison added.

“So, where were we?” Mercy pocketed her phone.

Allison turned to Derek questioningly. “Are you planning on sticking around?” He responded with a raise of his brow as if to say exactly how stupid that question was. She rolled her eyes. “Okay, whatever. So, the basic defense moves,” Allison continued.

“Well, Allison. Just a word to the wise, she’s wearing a skirt,” Derek pointed out, resuming his original position by the tree.

“As much as I hate to say this, he’s got a point,” Mercy looked down at her outfit, picking at the hem of the plaid skirt. “I mean, I’ve got boyshorts on underneath, but that only goes so far…”

“You’re about as helpful, as ever, Derek,” Allison snarked, giving the wolf an eyeroll of her own. Derek gave another of his pointed shrugs, as though he could really care less what the huntress had to say about him. “Don’t worry about it, Mercy. I’m just going to show you techniques that every girl should know. It won’t require you to pick your feet up very high. Besides, if you’re being attacked, chances are you won’t have much time to think about what you’re wearing. It’s more of a punch first, ask questions later kind of deal.” Mercy nodded in response, stretching her arms, ready to learn.

By the time they had finished for the evening, the sun was just beginning to touch the horizon an array of pinks and oranges stretching across the cloud-less sky. Mercy was slightly sweaty and her arms were a bit sore. Derek didn’t stay still for long, Allison having used him as a dummy of sorts. Her hits didn’t have as much effect on him as they might have on any other regular person, but even then Mercy could tell there was serious power paced behind each punch, each kick. Sometimes Derek parried, showing Mercy the proper way to defend his face and torso, claiming those were the areas one should protect at all times. As it turned out, Mercy did pretty well for a rookie. She even managed to land a good punch on Derek’s jaw, until she realized she had tucked her thumb. She yelped in pain clutching at her hand, biting her lip to quiet her moans.

“Never tuck your thumb under your knuckles!” Derek had leapt forward, recovering quickly from the blow Mercy had landed. Mercy easily dodged his hands, quickly turning 180°, pivoting her shoulder so he didn't touch her. It wasn’t that she was afraid necessarily; it had already been established that she could overpower him with some effort and he was a part of Scott’s pack sent only to observe and protect. It was just that she didn’t really know the man like that, not just yet. Derek smoothly retrieved his hands, playing it off cool. Allison eyed them, but said nothing. Still, he tried to get a good look at Mercy’s hand, but she still clutched it close to her stomach while bouncing on her feet trying to distract herself from the pain. Eventually it subsided and she was able to let go, not moving her throbbing digit for fear of hurting it even more. “Is your thumb alright?” he voiced, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, I’ll be okay,” Mercy said dropping her hand.

“I think that’s enough for today. Hopefully, you learned your lesson; don’t tuck,” Allison eyed Mercy sternly, heading towards where they had left the car.

“Trust me, I learned my lesson. Jeez Derek, you’ve got a hard head,” she told the werewolf trailing behind them.

“You have no idea how true that statement is,” Allison snickered. Derek growled from behind them, no serious threat behind it. Mercy smirked, laughing softly. The girls reached the car, Allison popped the trunk to return the bow and arrows.

“Thanks for the help, Derek,” Mercy turned to the older man. “Thanks, also, for not continuing to be an ass.”

Derek smirked in response, tilting his head down. “Yeah, yeah. I’d say anytime, but you got a lot of personality to deal with.” Mercy tried to hide her small smirk. She didn’t succeed.

“Turns out, you serve as an exceptional dummy,” Allison snarked from the driver’s door. “Your skills may be of use to us. If you’re up for it?” she posed the comment as a question. More of a dare than anything.

“I’ll let you know tomorrow,” came the vague reply from the handsome werewolf. Allison nodded, entering the car tossing a “Text me,” over the top of the black Toyota. Mercy stepped in as well, clicking the seatbelt in. She watched Derek’s body recede from her side view mirror, pondering about the tall man. Although he started out as an ass, and would probably continue to sass her, Mercy found it rather enjoyable to tolerate him. The ride back to the penthouse took some time, what with the evening rush hour in effect. The girls made small talk along the way just to pass the time. eventually the arrived in the parking lot, both starving and ready for dinner.

Allison and Mercy stepped out of the car, walking towards the building entrance, car beeping as Allison locked the doors behind them. Mercy noted, once again, that the penthouse was at the very top of the apartment building, indicating the name Argent carried with it more old money than she had originally thought. The Argents may not have been extremely rich, but perhaps a little more than exceptionally well-off. They stepped through the doorway, into the foyer Allison calling to her father, letting him know his daughter and “niece” had arrived. Mercy chuckled at the thought of being recognized as Chris’ “niece” in their own home, when all of them knew so clearly that wasn't the case. But it added a nice touch of humor to the situation, a lightened feeling that Mercy craved so direly.

“I’m in the kitchen. Finishing up with tonight's dinner: grilled chicken and penne pasta with an assortment of herbs,” the chef for the night hollered, his voice coming from just to the right from the living room. The two girls followed his voice, or perhaps it was the decadent scent wafting through the air that guided them to the kitchen, but either way, when they saw the hunter, they couldn’t help, but burst into laughter. He was wearing the most ridiculous outfit Mercy had ever seen: the dark clothes and boots, which apparently was a hunter's’ signature look, covered in a white, though mostly stained apron, with the words “Mr. Good Lookin’ Is Cookin” written in big red letters across his chest.

“I can’t believe you still have that old thing!” Allison commented between laughs.

“Of course I do! What kind of a father would I be, if I didn’t keep my daughter’s Father’s Day present?” he smirked, wiping his dirty hands on the already dirty apron.

“From when I was ten!” the girl screeched, still bent over laughing.

“That is hysterical, I can hardly breathe!” Mercy laughed, clutching at her stomach and wiping pretend tears from her eyes. “That’s great.”

“Well, as funny as it may be, I think it’s time I take it off and toss it into the hamper, cause dinner's ready, and I’m hungry,” Chris smiled as he lifted the tie from around his neck, and pulled on the ribbons securing the apron around his back.

“Ditto,” Mercy spun on her heel and headed towards the dining room table, which was already set with silverware.

“What do you girls want to drink?”

“Water,” both Argents, native and new, answered simultaneously. Chris entered the relatively small dining room with the platter of food balanced on one hand and pitcher of water in the other.

“So, Mercy…” Chris attempted to start an easy conversation. “Now that you’re my niece and all, I was thinking maybe it would be a good idea for us to get to know you a little better. What are your interests? Your hobbies and what have you?” he asked her with a smile.

“Well, I play the cello. Have been since I started middle school. I even competed in a state-wide competition in ninth grade. I came in second, which wasn’t too bad given I had only been playing a couple years,” Mercy revealed, remembering the joy and pride she felt when she received the trophy. “I used to dance, as well. A long, long, _long_ , time ago.”

“Oh, why’d you stop?” Allison asked.

“Well I was in the middle of the performance. Act two of Swan Lake, and somehow I had managed to land the lead role. We were doing a routine where all my little swan friends were circling around me and such. The costumes were so beautiful, but the stitching really needed some work, especially for my little swans. There were pearls lining the collar of their leos, and one of them popped off. It just so happened that I was landing from a pretty high jump right at that moment so my foot slipped out from right under me. Immediately I tried to balance myself, but I shattered my ankle doing so. To this day my ankle acts up sometimes. I tried to pick up dancing again after therapy, but even after months it just kept flaring up. I had no choice but to drop it. I miss it sometimes, but what can be done?”

“That’s terrible, Mercy! I’m sorry that happened to you,” Allison’s eyes showcased her sympathy for the girl.

“It happened a long time ago. I’ve come to terms with it, for the most part, anyways. After the whole incident, I became interested in photography and I would frequent my old studio, take pictures of the students there. I developed all of the good ones and sent it to them. They hang it up on the wall of Madame Boudreaux’s office, the ballet mistress there.”

“Well, I’m glad you found another love for something,” Chris told his “niece”. “After she quit gymnastics, Allison picked up archery, which, in all honesty, is far more useful now that she’s aware of the family business.”

“Yes, and he was very subtle when it came to helping me decide what I should pick up after I was over gymnastics,” Allison joked. Chris smirked, taking a swig of his beer.

“I can imagine. Chris, the pasta is really good,” Mercy complimented her “uncle’s” cooking.

“Thank you. Mercy, if you don’t mind my asking, why was it that you were in Eichen House?” Chris felt more than saw the quick look that his daughter cast his way at his abrupt subject change.

“Oh, um,” Mercy took a sip from her glass of water, realizing that this conversation may not end up being nearly as easy as it had started. While, she knew it was for the best if she was completely open with them, this topic of conversation was leaving her a bit hesitant. “It's kind of a long story...”

“We have time. You said the Sheriff was staying at the station for a while, didn't you?” Allison asked while finishing her food, deciding to follow her father’s lead.

“Yeah. Yeah... Okay, um... Well to give you some background, I started displaying my abilities the year before I was admitted. It started at a friend’s party. She got sick, because, I guess, I was affecting her too strongly. That was the first time I really noticed my power. Anyways, from then on, she kind of had this iron grip over me. Manipulating me. Dictating my every move. I was so scared that someone from the FBI or CIA or even just an obscure clan of mad scientists would capture me and experiment on me or something, which I realize may sound a little crazy and paranoid, but you know werewolves are real, so... Anyways, I stuck with her out of fear, but then one day I just got so tired of it. So, I, uh... I unleashed an unholy wrath on her. Last I heard, she was stuck in the mental ward of a hospital, not really recuperating. The police convinced Holly and Phillip to admit me to Eichen, and they had no idea what else to do with me, they couldn’t really explain what I had done. Despite people having seen it, no one could explain what I had done. So, yeah, they stuck me in there...” Mercy explained herself, twirling her hair between her fingers nervously. When she noted that Chris was watching her movement, she stilled her hand before she took another gulp of water, sweaty palms relishing in the coolness of the glass.

“Do you regret it?” Chris asked softly, not eating his food anymore. His eyes were still scanning every inch of her face, analyzing her every tick. Mercy wanted to think there was a softness to the hunter’s searching gaze, but she knew she must be imagining things. This was an interrogation. An interrogation that she had to pass. The Empath knew that it wouldn’t do to lie here, so she went the honesty route. Mercy may be the one who could actually read the emotions in the room, but she knew the man across from her would be able to read a liar in a heartbeat, supernatural powers be damned.

“I can’t, _honestly,_ say that I do. She got what she deserved, and then some. No, I didn’t want her to end up in a mental ward, and no, I didn’t mean to hurt her quite that much, but do I regret it? No. There are things I regret, though. I regret being in that situation to begin with. I… I hated being under her control. I was living a life tainted by fear. Everytime the doorbell rang, I expected men in black suits to take me away. Every time I used my abilities on another person, like she forced me to, I was terrified that someone would notice and say something, ostracize me, report me. I regret taking part in her sick games and knowing such a manipulative person, but I don’t regret doing what I did because what I did? That meant that I would finally be able to live my own life again. That I wouldn’t let her or anyone else force me to do something I didn’t want to do. I hated being a puppet for her. I felt sick inside. Absolutely disgusting. I needed out of that life, and now I am. That pit stop in Eichen wasn’t really what I had in mind when I thought “freedom” but at least she wasn’t there. At least no one there knew what I was, what I did.” Mercy explained herself, her hesitation and nerves melting away, passionate about her new resolve. She felt sure of herself now; she felt confident that no one would ever attempt to tug on her strings again. She didn’t feel proud of putting someone in the hospital, but she did _not_ regret it, nor did she feel particularly guilty. Some would say she lacked a heart, but others would say she was right in not feeling anything toward that ruthless bitch.

A few minutes of silence passed before Chris nodded in acceptance and everyone returned to their meals. The rest of the night went by as normal as one could possibly imagine it would after such a serious topic. Mercy appreciated the attempt at normalcy and knew it was, to some extent, for her. She couldn’t really imagine the Argents being the type of people to have the typical “How was your day?” conversations, but they were giving it a try for their new relative and she couldn't have been more grateful. It occurred to her in that moment that she had really missed experiencing normal family moments such as this.

* * *

 

Allison’s car pulled up to the driveway, gravel crunching underfoot, headlights gleaming in the windows of the Stilinski abode.

“Thanks for dinner, and for… ya know, in the woods. The ‘teaching me to defend myself’ thing. It means a lot, so thank you for that… really,” Mercy awkwardly expressed her gratitude. She had always been horrible at expressing gratitude, typically using platitudes, though she meant it all with sincerity.

“It’s no problem. I could use some touching up on my skills anyways, and this gives me the opportunity,” Allison said, changing the car’s gear into reverse while Mercy gathered her things to head out. “Anyways, have a good night. You need a ride to school tomorrow?” she inquired.

“Yeah, I do, actually. Pick me up at 8, like this morning?” The huntress nodded in response. “Thanks. Good night,” Mercy shut the car door behind her. She watched from the porch as Allison backed out, and drove away, her arm waving from outside her car window. Mercy knelt in front of the door, and under the welcome mat found the spare house key. John didn’t tell her it was there per say, but she was half expecting it to be so, she followed her gut. _“Typical…_ ” she smiled, sliding the key into the lock, and easily unbolting the door. She dropped her bags at the front door, placing the key back where it belonged.

“Okay, it’s only 9:30,” she glanced at the clock hanging on the wall opposite her, “I can probably finish up my homework by 10:30,” she said aloud, words falling on no one’s ears but her own. She traipsed up the stairs to Stiles’ room, bag in hand. First day of school, and she was already expected to write an essay. Mercy tossed her bag by her feet as she sat in the surprisingly comfortable swivel chair, the already unlocked PC whirring in the silent room. It didn’t take long to locate the Microsoft Word logo on the teen’s desktop screen, nor did it take Mercy a horribly long time to complete the essay. It was a rather short one, an analysis on some poetry she was assigned to read during class. She clicked print when she finished double-checking to make sure her fake name was written across the top. It would take some getting used to, typing Argent instead of Jacobs, but it was a change she welcomed wholeheartedly. She glanced at the clock on Stiles’ nightstand, reading an outstanding 10:00. “Really? So quick?” she sighed, exasperated. Surprisingly enough, Mercy wasn’t even tired. Yet. She stood up from her seat stretching her arms above her head, hearing a few satisfying pops from her spine. She took her paper from the printer’s tray, sliding it into her bookbag. “ _What now?_ ” she looked around the room, bored. A stack of seemingly ancient books piled on Stiles’ desk caught her eye. The yellowed pages, contrasted their leather spines; evidently, the books were extremely old and probably somewhat valuable. It was rare to see any leather-bound anything nowadays. She picked up the book on top, and nearly squealed with excitement. Nearly. _“I’m such a nerd…”_ she thought, releasing an outward sigh.

* * *

 

When Allison got back home, she immediately went to Chris’ office, finding him standing near a bookshelf, with a book in hand. He didn’t even look up when she entered, continuing to peruse the work.

“Found anything on Empaths, yet?” Allison asked, taking a seat in the swivel chair behind his desk, propping her feet up on the corner.

“Not yet, but I don’t know the full extent of her powers, either. Just glimpses of what she’s told us. Sounds pretty extensive, though.”

“I agree. That language thing is really weird. What would that have to do with emotions?” Allison grabbed a pen off of her father’s desk and began twirling it between her fingers.

“From what I know, there are different types of Empaths. All one species, just… breeds, I guess. Some breeds can do certain things, others not. The reigning breed, in terms of the amount of abilities they have, is the Maximus. They are the rarest, the fewest in numbers. They show most, if not all of the abilities of an Empath.”

“You knew all of this and didn’t tell her. Why?”

“Because that’s as far as my knowledge on the subject goes. I knew a hunter that came across an Empath. I’ve only heard stories. I never met her.”

“Right. And you were trying to suss her out. Mercy, I mean,” Allison wasn’t asking a question. She knew her father was doing the same thing that she had been doing all day.

“Amongst other things, yes.”

“Which explains dinner.”

Chris gave his daughter a knowing look, but didn’t choose to comment. Allison waited a second before leaping forward with her next question. “So, what’s your conclusion? Did she pass?”

“I think I’m more interested in what you think,” Chris remarked, finally looking up from his book with an arched eyebrow.

“I… I don’t think…” Allison kept having to reconfigure what she had to say. She had mixed feelings when it came to the new girl. “I don’t think she’s dangerous. At the very least, not to us. I think she’s just as confused as us. I think she’s afraid, but she doesn’t want to show it. That she’s putting up a front, a mask, and she doesn’t want us to see what might be behind it.”

“But do you think she’s unstable?”

“I’ve seen her have moments, but from what she told me of her power, she has a lot of control. A lesser person would lose their mind if they felt that much. I know I wouldn’t be able to hold on for so long.”

“So, you don’t think she’s a threat?”

“No,” Allison replied with finality. “Not to us.”

“Okay.” Chris nodded, bookmarking his place in the book, closing it, and returning it to its place on the bookshelf.

* * *

 

Mercy kicked off the boots she wore, wiggling her toes as she tossed herself on the bed. The title of the book _A Complete History of Magick, Sorcery, and Witchcraft,_ gleamed up at her, neatly written in gold. Actual melted gold, mind you. She was almost afraid to lift the cover, lest she molest the perfectly bound book and disturb it’s peaceful slumber. Almost. Her hunger for some actual answers was far too great for her to pass up on this opportunity. She paused before settling in to read it, thinking it would be best if she changed into her PJ’s first. She walked back to her new room, stripping as she walked, thankful for the privacy. She changed into her pajamas, a simple black tank and one of Stiles old plaid boxers that were too small for him. Bless the sheriff for being mindful of her lack of wardrobe. She brushed her teeth, cleansed her face, and put on a clay face mask she found in the little make-up bag Lydia had gifted her that morning. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, piled haphazardly on the apex of her head, a stretchy grey headband keeping the fly aways off the thick cream coating her skin. It was a good fifteen anxious minutes before Mercy returned to Stiles’ room, feeling refreshed, yet slightly drowsy, nervous about what she was going to learn from the ancient tome. She sat up against the headboard of the bed, the fluffy blue pillows cushioning her back, sock-clad feet crossed at the ankles stretched before her. The book lay closed on her lap, her fingers playing with the corner of the cover, lifting it slightly, then letting it fall back down with a gentle thud. Taking a quick breath, she opened the book letting her eyes glide over the neatly printed words. She searched for the table of contents and found that she didn’t understand most of what was written there. She searched for “Empath”, but returned empty-handed. However, Mercy wasn’t one to give up so easily. At least, not anymore. She flipped to the first chapter, opting to read the preface at a later time.

The book started off pretty simple, and maybe even a little boring. Despite Mercy’s excitement, within fifteen minutes of laboring to read the same two pages the exhausted Empath passed out. The book lay open on her lap, hands resting gingerly on the yellowed, yet well preserved, pages. Her head tilted slightly to the left, headband still securing her hair, soft snores coming from her parted lips. It really wasn’t too long until Mercy slipped into the deepest part of her slumber, and arguably the most disturbing.

It all started out just fine, her dream not unlike the ones she would have before Eichen, except that it seemed to be in HD this time around; 1080 pixel type HD, y’know? Mercy walked through her dream-world, enjoying the quiet. The white noise she was constantly tortured with was gone, and she was perfectly content with walking around an empty Stilinski house while she remained lucid within the dream. It wasn’t the first time she’d experienced lucid dreaming, but it was the first time she experienced such high-quality dreaming. She could feel the hard wood floors beneath her bare feet, hear the creaking within the, otherwise silent, house. Then, the house wasn’t so silent. She could hear footsteps coming from just ahead of her. She walked forwards, curious to see who it was. She turned the corner and saw a flash of plaid disappear across the way. She continued forward, chasing the person through the house. She always seemed too far behind, only catching glimpses of skin and a black and red plaid shirt each time she turned a corner. Eventually, she realized the person was climbing the stairs. She ran up laughing and giggling the whole time. She climbed up two steps at a time, arriving on the second floor just in time to see a brown shoe disappear into Stiles’ bedroom. She followed him in, running into the room at full speed. Then, it was like she walked through a portal where she was transported to a white room. Completely stark white; white walls, white floor, white ceiling. She spun around, slightly taken aback from the drastic change in scenery, but still looking for the boy in plaid. In the distance, she could just barely make out a tree stump, two people sitting on top of it. It took half a second before Mercy’s breath caught in her throat, realizing who the boy in plaid was; Stiles. She tried to call out for him, but her voice didn’t seem to work quite right. Somewhere deep down, Mercy knew this wasn’t the same dream. It felt vastly different. She watched as Stiles and the other odd figure were hunched over something like a chess board, making the occasional move. Opening her mouth once more, Mercy tried to say his name. Still nothing. She decided to move forward, but every time she made a step, it seemed the distance between her and the boy in plaid grew greater. The Empath began to get increasingly frustrated as she continued to try and gain his attention. Mercy had this vast need to talk to him, ask him what was happening, but to no avail. It felt like centuries had passed and yet, it felt like mere seconds. Time seemed to stand still in this white room with her moving forward and Stiles paying her no attention, but continuing on with his game. She decided to stop. Mercy knew she was getting nowhere.

In that moment, the second figure looked up and gave her a sickening grin, though his face was covered in bandages. Mercy felt her stomach turn. She felt this intense fear take over and tried once more.

“STILES!”

This time, the boy looked up upon hearing the scream that escaped her lips and seemed to see her for the first time. He opened his mouth, but Mercy didn’t get a chance to hear anything he had to say. She blinked and the ghastly figure was suddenly standing in front of her with a tilt of the head.

“Not yet, little Empath. But just you wait. I have a lot in store for you.”


End file.
